


Aurors and Schoolgirls

by Northumbrian



Series: Nineteen Years and Beyond [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Auror Training, Aurors, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Novel, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6057483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northumbrian/pseuds/Northumbrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wizarding war is over. Harry & Ron are in London, where Auror training has begun. Ginny & Hermione are back at Hogwarts School. Do these parted pairings have divergent destinies? When, where, & how can these separated souls meet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quidditch: Rejection, Selection

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to "Grave Days". While this story stands alone, and there is no need for you to read Grave Days before you read it, You might as well. It's completed, after all. :-D

**1: Quidditch: Rejection, Selection**

Quidditch Captain Ginny Weasley looked around the pitch in dismay. There were about sixty students sitting on the benches, and all were watching her closely. As at least twenty of them were first years, it didn’t take a genius to realise that this was many more than there was something wrong. There weren’t twenty first year students in Gryffindor House. Ginny was glad that she’d taken the Head Girl’s advice and put up a notice in the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione claimed to know a lot about Quidditch. Ron disagreed. He was of the opinion that his girlfriend knew a lot about the theory of Quidditch, but almost nothing about the sport of wizards itself. When it came to this particular topic, Ginny was inclined to agree with her brother.

It didn’t matter because, whatever else she was, Hermione was without doubt an excellent organiser. Ginny pulled the list from her pocket, looked at the names, and then at the assembled students: Demelza, Ritchie, Jimmy and, unfortunately, Dean and Jack, were all there. She recognised a few of the others, too.

‘Right, you lot,’ she shouted. ‘When I call out your name, come down here and bring your broom with you! If I don’t call out your name, the Head Girl will want to speak to you to find out why you’re here. This is a closed try-out for the Gryffindor team. If you’re not in Gryffindor or you didn’t put your name on this list, I advise you to get out of here, now!’

Almost half of the students immediately stood and left; Ginny smiled and began to read out the names. When she’d finished, there were still three girls left on the benches. She sighed.

‘Who are you, and why are you still here?’ she shouted.

‘We want to try out for the team,’ the tallest of the girls yelled.

‘That’s my sister, Veronica, and her friends Kate and Alice,’ a boy said dismissively. ‘They’re all second years, and they’re rubbish.’

Ginny looked at the boy; he’d tried out last year, when he’d been a second year. She searched her memory for his name – he was John Bulcock. He hadn’t been much good, but she’d put him on the reserve list anyway. There hadn’t been much option. At the start of the previous school year, being a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had been like having a target painted on your back. Every member of the team had been on the receiving end of some very unpleasant hexes.

There had only been one game, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, and Amycus Carrow had refereed it. Slytherin had won, of course, after the dirtiest game—and the most biased refereeing—that Ginny had ever seen. She had been crying with frustration by the time Slytherin finally caught the Snitch. Three members of her team had been injured during the match, two with broken bones. Carrow had refused to halt the game to allow them to be treated. Astonishingly, and much to Carrow’s disgust, one of the Slytherin parents had walked onto the pitch and treated the injured players.

Even some of the Slytherins had been embarrassed by their violent, bloody and unjust victory. When Snape cancelled all subsequent matches, no one had complained.

‘Hermione,’ Ginny called. The Head Girl looked up from her studies.

‘If you wanted to try out, you should have put your names on the list,’ called Hermione. ‘I made the announcement in the common room on the first day of term.’ She waved her copy of the notice. ‘No exceptions!’

For a moment, it looked like Veronica would argue. After a whispered discussion, the three second-year girls lowered their heads dejectedly, stood and left. Ginny was tempted to call them back and let them try out. It was always possible that one of them had talent. But Hermione was correct;if they’d wanted to try out, they should have signed the list. She watched them leave and turned to the twenty-five remaining students.

‘Everyone, mount your brooms, fly round the hoops at each end of the pitch, then land back here.’

That simple test allowed her to dismiss eleven more students – a lot more than she’d expected to lose. She looked at the remaining fourteen. Somewhere in this lot were her team. She’d hoped that she would have more choice.

‘Beaters,’ she ordered. Four boys stepped forwards. ‘Names, please,’ she requested.

‘Euan Abercrombie,’ a tall boy said.

‘Hi, Ginny.’ Burly fifth-year Jimmy Peakes smiled. ‘Me’n Ritchie are back.’

Ritchie Coote grinned. Now in his fourth year, Ritchie had grown over the summer; he was Harry’s height, still skinny, and half a head taller than the older Peakes.

‘Stanley Cresswell,’ the other boy announced his name sadly.

Ginny nodded in recognition of the name. Cresswell’s father had been a Muggle-born, one of many who had been murdered last year.

She sent the four boys up for flight and target practice. Abercrombie she dismissed within minutes, but there was little difference between the other three. Cresswell wasn’t as accurate as Ritchie or as hard a hitter as Jimmy, but he was a good all-rounder. After twenty minutes, she finally made her decision. Ritchie and Jimmy knew each other, and had worked well together in the past. Cresswell was the outsider, the unknown.

‘Sorry, Stanley,’ she said, ‘I’m sticking with Ritchie and Jimmy, but I’d like to keep you in reserve, just in case of injuries. If you three can all wait on the benches until I’ve finished looking at the rest, please.’

Cresswell shrugged disconsolately.

‘Keepers,’ requested Ginny. Jack Sloper stepped forwards and smiled. He was the only one to do so. Ginny tried not to look desperate when she turned to the remaining nine students.

‘No one else?’ she asked. No one moved. Ginny cursed; she wanted a good team, a strong team. Sloper was as keen as mustard, and about as much use on a broom. _Typical_! She had three decent Beaters, but only one poor Keeper.

‘It looks like you’re on the team, Jack,’ she said, trying her best to hide her disappointment.

‘Seekers,’ she tried, hoping that she’d have a choice. Two girls and a boy stepped forwards. All were small, first or second years. _Not necessarily a bad thing for a Seeker_ , she thought hopefully.

‘We’d like to try for Chasers, too,’ the boy said.

‘Me and my twin,’ the taller of the two girls continued seamlessly. ‘I’m Alizon Devine.’

‘And I’m James,’ the boy finished. Ginny looked at the other girl, a tiny, dark-haired, white-faced first year who hadn’t spoken.

‘Maisie Cattermole, Miss,’ the girl said. She’d actually started to put up her hand before she spoke. Ginny looked at her curiously. Maisie looked terrified, but determined.

Ginny’s heart sank as she looked at the three. If they were no good, she’d have to take the position herself. She didn’t want that. She wanted to be a Chaser. She wanted to impress the scouts. She and her brothers, and Harry, had spent hours flying over the summer. Harry and Charlie both thought that she could make it as a professional. She knew that Oliver Wood had been signed up after he’d been noticed at school.

If she wanted to be a professional Chaser, she needed to work hard and she needed to work her team hard. They had to do well. But, more importantly than that, she needed a decent Seeker. Watching the youngsters carefully, Ginny pulled a catapult from her pocket and picked up a golf ball from the bucket at her feet. She had enchanted the balls to swerve randomly and she fitted one into the catapult.

‘Mount up.’ She waited for them to obey before pulling back the elastic. ‘Now, catch this.’

The speed at which the golf ball left the catapult caught them by surprise.

* * *

The Weasley Slingshot Supreme was guaranteed to launch a Weasley Dungblaster Missile accurately over at least a quarter of a mile. It was both fast and accurate; Ginny knew this for a fact, as she’d tested it.

Standing under a Disillusionment Spell at the far end of the dungeon corridor, she had managed to launch three Dungblasters into the Slytherin common room on the second day of term. She’d been ready and waiting when a couple of first years had opened their portrait. She could have made it four, but she’d taken her time with the third shot and had managed to hit the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, Aaron Wylde, in the chest. She considered this payback for their defeat the previous year.

Ginny had written a glowing report about the catapult/missile combination to George, but ordered him to tell no one. The Headmistress, the Head Girl and the Head Boy had all spoken out against “the Dungbomb incident” at breakfast the following morning. Professor McGonagall had told the entire school that hexing or otherwise attacking students would not be tolerated. Perhaps because of Ginny’s deliberate targeting of the Slytherin Captain, the Headmistress also announced that any Quidditch player caught attacking another player off the field would receive a year-long ban from the game.

That announcement had initially resulted in Ginny angrily resolving not to get caught. Later, after an exchange of letters with Harry, she’d found herself promising her boyfriend that she wouldn’t hex anyone, not even a Slytherin Quidditch Captain whose father was an identified Death Eater and on the “Wanted by the Auror Office” list.

When they had left the Great Hall after breakfast, Hermione had asked her if she’d thrown Dungbombs into the Slytherin common room. Ginny had been outraged at the suggestion.

‘I did not!’ she replied honestly. _I fired Dungblaster missiles using a catapult_ , she thought smugly, _which is not the same thing_. ‘But, even if I had, I’d be stupid to confess to the Head Girl, wouldn’t I?’ continued Ginny. Hermione had frowned and protested, and then realised that, despite her denial, Ginny had indeed been responsible. When Hermione had started a lecture about honesty and responsibility, Ginny had stormed off.

Head Girl Hermione was taking her position very seriously, and as a consequence was proving to be extremely dull and sensible. Ginny was astonished by how much difference the absence of Ron and Harry from the school made to Hermione.

It had taken several days for Ginny to make up with Hermione. It was her admission to the Head Girl, late one evening, that she’d promised Harry that she would not hex anyone which had finally resolved their argument.

* * *

James Devine landed in front of her and handed her the golf ball. Ginny had been daydreaming; she hadn’t been watching the Seekers. She brought herself back to the job at hand. She was Quidditch Captain, after all.

‘Again,’ she ordered, re-launching the golf ball. This time, Maisie caught it.

She didn’t wait for them to return; she simply launched ball after ball and carefully watched the three youngsters. James was fairly good – certainly not as good as Harry, but better than his sister, and certainly good enough to play in that position. Maisie was mad, or stupid, or at least completely, foolishly, fearless.

Maisie managed to beat Alizon for the number of catches made and was only one catch behind James when Ginny fitted the last ball into the catapult. The tiny first-year girl crashed into the ground and broke her arm in a desperate attempt to reach the final ball before it hit the ground. Neither James nor Alizon were even close to the ball. Hermione was on the pitch in an instant, taking charge. Maisie’s arm was temporarily splinted, and the tearful first year was carried from the pitch to the hospital wing by Peakes, Coote, Cresswell, and Hermione. Had Maisie caught the ball despite breaking her arm, Ginny would certainly have chosen her over James.

‘James, you’re our Seeker,’ Ginny told the curly-haired boy. She looked at the remaining seven students.

Demelza Robins grinned. ‘One to keep an eye on, that Maisie. If you’d selected her, she’d have taken Harry’s record as youngest Seeker ever.’ Demelza, it seemed, had been doing some research on the students who’d put their names down.

‘Checking out potential rivals?’ Ginny asked Demelza, smiling at the sixth year girl.

‘Checking out to see who was likely to be any good,’ Demelza corrected. ‘Didn’t you ask around?’

Ginny shook her head. ‘I like to see them flying.’ She turned to the remaining students, ‘Chasers, let’s fly,’ she ordered, kicking her broom skyward to join the remaining seven students. She made her selection within minutes. Demelza and Alizon Devine easily outflew all of the others. She offered a reserve place to Demelza’s fellow fourth-year and close friend Enid Plews. She wasn’t great, but she was as good as Dean, and if she had to chose between the two…

‘What about me?’ Dean asked, as they dropped to the ground. He sounded hurt.

‘I think that Enid’s slightly better, sorry,’ Ginny lied. ‘But if I lose two Chasers, you’re next on the list,’ she told him carefully.

‘Thanks, gorgeous.’ Dean winked at her.

‘Ginny!’ she snapped. ‘My name is Ginny, not “gorgeous”.’

When they’d been going out, he’d called her “gorgeous,” she remembered, and “darlin’,” and sometimes “red.” At first, she’d thought it was wonderful; later she’d wondered if he could actually remember her name. _Quidditch Captains need to inspire their team, not annoy them_ , she reminded herself, as she struggled to curb her temper.

‘Sorry, Ginny.’ Dean smiled at her. He had a nice smile; that and his curly black hair were his best features. 

‘Right, team,’ Ginny told them, ‘The first real practice is tomorrow morning. I want you all here, including the reserves. Remember this. We are definitely this year’s cup winning team. See you tomorrow.’

Her team cheered, turned and left.

‘I hope,’ she muttered under her breath.

* * *

Just over a week later, Ginny walked into the Great Hall with her team. Their second practice session had gone well. Alizon Devine was showing a great deal of promise and, fortunately, there had been no spies from the other teams hiding around the pitch. She was grateful for that, as she didn’t want anyone to know that their weak link was their Keeper. As she walked over to greet Hermione, Ginny felt a warm glow in her pocket. Harry had sent the message she’d been expecting. She stopped and pulled her DA galleon from her pocket.

The message read: 12:00 – 3 Oct – 54 gallons of ale.

Ginny grinned. She wondered who would be able to figure it out, and who would need help. She looked around the Great Hall, searching for the five other DA members still at school. Three sat at the Gryffindor table. Hermione was already examining her Galleon, a puzzled expression on her face, and so was Dennis Creevey. Dean Thomas was unconcernedly eating his dinner. _Typical Dean_ , Ginny thought, _he never carries his galleon_. If he had, he might have been spirited into hiding last year instead of having to go on the run. At the Ravenclaw table, Luna was putting hers back inside her robes and smiling. At the Hufflepuff table, Head Boy Justin Finch-Fletchley looked puzzled, but only for a moment. His eyes lit up in understanding. He glanced across at the Gryffindor table and, when he saw her watching him, he grinned and winked.

On October the third, during the first Hogsmeade visit, Ginny would see Harry for the first time since he’d taken her to Kings Cross and the Hogwarts Express. She’d have three more weeks without Harry, and no opportunity to have fun without him.

Making mischief was, unfortunately, not an option. The new regime had made sure of that. Justin and Hermione, the Head Boy and Head Girl, were both members of Dumbledore’s Army and heroes of Hogwarts. Both were Muggle-born, and both had missed school last year. Headmistress McGonagall had made a political statement with her choice.

Ginny, however, rather wished that someone else had got the jobs. Dean and Luna would have been better. Luna would have made a very interesting Head Girl, and Ginny knew that she could still get around Dean, provided she didn’t lose her temper with him. She had been given a simple choice: if she was caught misbehaving, she’d lose her Captaincy. That would significantly reduce her chance of a career in Quidditch. The decision was easy. She would concentrate on Quidditch, on her team.

They had the makings of a good team, but they would need to improve, especially Jack Sloper. After their first game against Slytherin, it would be obvious to everyone in the school that the Gryffindor Keeper was rubbish. Ginny could think of only one solution. They had to score a lot more goals than the opposition and catch the Snitch first.

She smiled ruefully, and reminded herself that, in essence, that was the whole point of the game.


	2. Hogsmeade: Anticipation

**2\. Hogsmeade: Anticipation**

Hermione had already left the Great Hall when Ginny finally arrived for breakfast. She looked disinterestedly at the platters of food, because she had more important things on her mind. It was the first Saturday in October, the day of the first Hogsmeade visit.

At last, the long awaited day had arrived.

Ginny hadn’t seen Harry since she’d left for Hogwarts, since they had kissed her goodbye on the Hogwarts Express. Unfortunately, today Ginny knew that she wasn’t going to have her boyfriend to herself; she’d have to share him, because Harry had organised a DA meeting, a reunion.

Ginny understood her boyfriend’s reasons; the group had been formed three years earlier, at the first Hogsmeade visit of that year. In fact, she had discussed the possibility of a reunion with Harry on a lazy Sunday in the summer and, at the time, she had actually encouraged him to organise something. When they had been lying in each other’s arms, under an apple tree in the orchard above the Burrow, they had both agreed it was a great idea. But now, after more than a month without Harry, all she really wanted was for them to have some time alone together.

She was eating a slice of toast and marmalade when the post arrived. There was a letter for her, and she immediately recognised the writing on the envelope; it was a letter from Harry. He was still using post owls, as he stubbornly refused to replace the irreplaceable Hedwig. Snatching the envelope from the bird, she tore open his letter and read quickly.

_Ginny,_

_Ron finally confessed; he did give Hermione a hint. She wrote to him three days in a row, asking him for some clue to the “54 gallons” reference. He gave in and told her “six firkins,” and apparently that was enough. So, despite what she told you, the Head Girl didn’t manage to figure out our message alone. We stumped the great brain!_

_I wish I’d seen her face when Luna told her that it was easy! I bet she’d already spent the day in the library._

‘She had,’ Ginny said aloud to her absent boyfriend, grinning as she did so. A firkin was nine gallons, and six firkins was 54 gallons, or one Hogshead, of ale. This oblique reference to the Hog’s Head had been Hermione’s dad’s idea. Ron, Ginny and Harry had approached him at the end of the summer holidays and asked him about things Hermione didn’t know. “Beer and cricket” had been his answer. When they’d told him the name of the pub, he’d immediately said, “A Hogshead is a barrel size; she won’t know that.” He’d been right.

Luna had known immediately. Ginny had watched her read the message “12:00 – 3 Oct – 54 gallons of ale,” and smile in understanding. Luna also knew that there were forty poles to the furlong and four pecks to the bushel. When Ginny asked how, and why, Luna knew such things the blonde Ravenclaw witch had been astonished that these weren’t facts that absolutely everyone knew. Head Boy Justin knew beer, as his father owned a chain of Muggle pubs, among other things. The pubs often used the word “firkin” in their name, because it sounded a bit rude. Because of that, Justin knew barrel sizes and had figured it out very quickly. Dean, once a puzzled Dennis had asked his fellow Gryffindor about the message, had chosen the easy option. He simply asked Luna, who told him the answer.

Ginny had warned every DA member still at school not to tell Hermione, and had enjoyed seeing the Head Girl looking puzzled. Under Headmistress McGonagall, opportunities for practical jokes were extremely limited, so she had to get her pleasures some other way. Smiling to herself, Ginny read the rest of Harry’s letter. He told her how his Auror training was going (very well) and how he was missing her (very much). The last, short, paragraph was almost a postscript; her pulse raced as she read it.

_I’m going to go to the Hog’s Head at eleven to help Aberforth set things up. How soon can you get out of school? I’ll be outside Honeydukes at half past ten; I hope that you can meet me then._

She’d expected to meet him at twelve; in his previous letter, he’d said his training commitments meant that was the earliest he could get to Hogsmeade. His plans had changed; she’d see him sooner but, that wasn’t what was making her heart beat faster. He had ended the letter:

_All my love,_

_**Harry** x_

Ginny read the valediction again and again.

One kiss was all she ever got. Harry’s first letter to her had been waiting for her when the train arrived in Hogsmeade; he had finished it:

_Yours,_

_**Harry** x_

She’d replied immediately, and had put two dozen kisses on her reply, adding, “ps One measly little kiss? Don’t I deserve more?” His reply had been waiting for her the following morning. “One kiss is enough, providing that it’s a good one, and believe me, that was a very good kiss.” That joking exchange had led to her following Harry’s lead. Since then, one little “x” was all they sent each other. But, until today, until this wonderful letter, all of his letters had finished simply, _Yours, Harry x_. That had been enough; she had been happy with _Yours_ , because it was true; he was, after everything that had happened, hers. 

_All my love_ … that was new; that was wonderful.

She whooped with joy.

Everyone on the Gryffindor table stared at her. ‘Letter from Harry,’ she explained. Heads returned to their breakfasts, curiosity satisfied. She checked her watch; she would be seeing him in just over an hour. She wolfed down the toast and dashed off to the Prefect’s bathroom, thankful for the privilege that being Quidditch Captain gave her.

While she bathed, Ginny thought back to a conversation she’d had with Hermione in the summer. They had been on holiday in France and had shared a room. Ron and Harry had shared another, and Hermione’s parents had made sure that things stayed that way. On their last night, at about midnight, she and Hermione had found themselves awake, and a little depressed that their holiday was ending.

* * *

‘Hermione?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Has Ron ever told you that he loves you?’

Hermione gave an embarrassed laugh.

‘That is a very personal question, Ginny,’ she said seriously. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Has he?’

‘Yes,’ Hermione sighed sadly. ‘Lots of times; but only twice since we started going out together.’

‘What?’ Ginny was confused.

‘He used to say it all the time,’ Hermione told her. ‘Even when he was going out with Lavender.’

‘Merlin, what an imbecile! Honestly?’

‘Yes … I think it’s because you’re from a big family,’ Hermione explained. ‘I expect you say it all the time to each other, and I think Ron used to say it without thinking; it was just a bigger and better thank you. When I helped him, I sometimes got an “I love you,” instead of a “thanks.” But, since we started going out, he’s said it twice; once in Australia, when we were arguing about my parents, I ignored him,’ Hermione lowered her head sadly, ‘and once over the phone, early in the summer. I think he meant it, but he wouldn’t repeat it. Why do you want to know?’

‘Dean used to say it all the time,’ confessed Ginny, ‘but …’

‘Harry never has,’ Hermione concluded.

‘No,’ Ginny confirmed.

‘Dean just wanted to get into your knickers—or, at the very least, get his hands inside your blouse,’ Hermione told her friend frankly, making Ginny very uncomfortable. _He managed with the blouse, but I’m never telling anyone that, except Harry, and not even him until he’s ready,_ she thought, _and Dean is never going to talk. Or else!_

‘Harry …’ Hermione continued to ponder, oblivious to Ginny’s thoughts, ‘Harry … well, think about it, Ginny, how many people have told you they love you? Your parents, your brothers, other relatives, Dean … and Michael for all I know.’

‘Not Michael,’ said Ginny.

‘Seriously? Well, how many people do you think have said those three words to Harry?’ she asked

Ginny was silent, thinking.

‘None,’ she replied.

‘Possibly Sirius.’ Hermione conjectured. ‘But you’re probably right, no one. I expect that his Mum and Dad did, but he won’t remember that.’

‘So…’

‘So, when Harry does say it, he’ll mean it,’ advised Hermione. ‘He will _really_ mean it.’

‘Maybe I should tell him, first,’ Ginny suggested, though she knew even before she spoke that she should not.

‘No! You know Harry better than that, Ginny; he’ll feel obliged to say it back to you even if he’s really not ready to say the words.’

Ginny nodded sadly; she did know better, but she’d needed confirmation from Hermione.

‘You need to be patient, Ginny; he does love you, desperately. He’s quite pathetic about it.’ Hermione shuffled closer, and lowered her voice. ‘Don’t tell him I’ve told you this, but he was obsessing over the Marauders Map most of last year. I saw him. He was trying to keep an eye on you, to look out for you, even then. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. But the words won’t come easy to him. As for Ron…’

‘You’re right about Dean, Hermione,’ Ginny interrupted. ‘He would say things he didn’t really mean, just to get … his own way. Ron won’t do that to you.’ Ginny grinned, ‘My brother can be an idiot, but he’s a bit like Harry. The next time he says the words to your face, he will mean it.’

‘But when?’ wondered Hermione.

‘Boys!’ Ginny sighed.

‘Boys!’ Hermione confirmed.

‘You can’t live with them,’ Ginny said, ‘and you can’t live without them.’

‘And you can’t hex them into oblivion,’ Hermione added vindictively.

‘You can,’ Ginny announced. ‘I do! Six brothers; I’ve had lots of practice.’

* * *

Smiling, Ginny returned to the present and hauled herself out of the bath. Clean, and smelling fresh and flowery, she returned to the Gryffindor common room and climbed up the stairs to her dormitory. What should she wear? She pulled item after item from her trunk.

Her black dress; Harry liked it, but they were going to a DA meeting, not a party—and anyway, she’d worn it to Colin’s funeral. Her new short skirt—no, she was saving that for a very special occasion. Ron would object to it, anyway. And Harry would be embarrassed if Ron created a scene. Robes; definitely not! Something casual—something Muggle—she made her decision. She pulled on a new low-cut vest. It was short and white, with the Gryffindor lion in red on the front. Her jeans were new, too. She examined herself in the mirror and decided to make some improvements. Taking her wand she spent some time carefully shrinking various parts of both jeans and vest, making certain that they fitted very, very snugly. The only other time she’d tried that, a week after the battle, the effect on Harry had been remarkable.   
Jeans and vest top, her brothers couldn’t complain, and Harry would think that it was normal. He’d never realise the efforts she’d gone through. He would notice her, but not immediately, she decided. She pulled on a long, baggy bright green sweater. It covered her hips and instantly transformed her look from skin-tight back to slightly-scruffy normal.

It was almost half past ten; where had the time gone? She pulled on her school cloak, grabbed her broom, and opened the window. She could only leave through the school gate, but the broom would get her to the gate, and then on to Hogsmeade, quickly. She leapt out of the window and flew to the Hogsmeade exit. There was a queue of students waiting to leave.

‘I’m meeting Harry; I’m late,’ she told the people waiting to leave. She used her well-practiced innocent and flustered look. It worked; everyone let her pass. Only one boy, a burly Slytherin fifth year, looked like he would argue; but Colin Creevey’s friend, and Ginny’s only Slytherin friend, Fenella Gray, intervened. ‘Just let her through, Shuttleworth,’ Fenella pleaded in a whisper. Shuttleworth glared at Fenella, but she was almost a foot taller than Ginny, a seventh-year, a Slytherin, and a Prefect. The fifth year didn’t argue, which was fortunate, as Ginny knew that Fenella was far from forceful and would probably have backed down.

Once outside the gate, Ginny re-mounted her broom and flew to Hogsmeade. She landed at the far side of the village, away from the school; she was a few minutes late. Walking quickly along the street, she approached Harry from behind. He stood outside of the door to Honeydukes, looking anxiously in the opposite direction, up the path which led from the school.

Ginny slowed down and approached him quietly, watching carefully; he hadn’t seen her. He was nervous. He was always nervous when they first met; it was as though he thought she might not turn up, the silly boy! He always looked cute when he was nervous, too. Any second now, he’d take off his glasses and polish them.

He did! She grinned.

‘Hi, Harry,’ she called, throwing back her cloak and swinging her hips as she walked towards him. She feigned nonchalance, though her heart was close to exploding. ‘I haven’t seen you in a while.’

He hastily replaced his spectacles and smiled that heart-melting smile of his.

‘More than a month,’ he told her, correctly, ‘thirty two days…’ He was going to tell her the hours, too, but his smile had been too much for her; she wasn’t going to waste time talking. Before he could say anything else, she stepped up and kissed him.

She’d missed him, and he’d missed her; the long, passionate kiss was confirmation of that. She felt one hand in her hair, the other on her back. She slipped her arms round him, pulled him closer, and squeezed his lovely bottom. Behind them, the shop door opened.

‘Oi,’ a voice called. ‘Stop blocking my doorway, how can my customers get in?’

Ginny rounded angrily on the shopkeeper, reaching for her wand.

‘Sorry, Ambrosius,’ apologised Harry, grabbing Ginny’s wand hand and smiling at the startled little wizard. ‘We’ll have two hot chocolates, please.’ He led her into the shop and sat her down at the nearest of half-a-dozen small tables, which were a new addition to the shop.

‘Certainly, Mr Potter,’ the elderly wizard scuttled back behind the counter, looking warily at Ginny.

‘Is hot chocolate okay?’ asked Harry, suddenly concerned.

‘Honeydukes’ Finest Hot Chocolate? Perfect,’ Ginny smiled at him.

‘Did you … did you get my letter this morning?’ he asked nervously, looking anxiously into her face.

‘Obviously,’ she said offhandedly, choosing to tease him. ‘Otherwise how would I have known to be here?’

‘Oh, good,’ he said. He looked down at the table in embarrassment. ‘That’s good, great.’

Ginny suddenly understood. He’d been hoping for an opening, a chance to actually say the words, and she’d casually dismissed his letter. She knew Harry; he needed a serious moment to say a serious thing. The moment had gone.

‘So, Ron gave Hermione a clue about the message,’ Harry continued, still looking down at the table.

‘Yes, you told me,’ agreed Ginny.

She placed her elbows on the table, rested her chin on her hands and sat in silence. She watched him carefully; she couldn’t push him, no one could push Harry, although Hermione tried. She’d watched him for years, and she knew that if you pushed, you simply met resistance. And the harder you pushed, the firmer was Harry’s resistance.

The school separation was proving difficult for her. It was difficult for him too, she suspected as she watched him fidget nervously. Last year, she’d missed him and worried about him, but last year there had been so many other things to worry about; like rescuing students from the Carrows. This year was different. Her official Harpies 1998 calendar had the dates of every Hogsmeade visit, every holiday, and every Quidditch game, ringed. They were the times she’d be able to see him, and nothing else mattered.

Harry looked up. She lifted her chin from her hands and let them fall to the table, palms uppermost. Harry grasped them eagerly. This simple contact brought a much needed smile to their faces. They continued to look at each other in silence, holding hands across the table. They didn’t need to speak; they were both remembering, thinking. Ginny knew that patience and silence were necessary for Harry. Give him enough silence and, eventually, he’d fill it; he’d tell her what was on his mind.

Five months had passed since the battle, but she knew that her boyfriend still had some dark days. He’d stayed at the Burrow for much of the summer and on more than one occasion she’d heard his cries, and seen his tangled sheets. She had wanted to go in, to comfort him. She had done, once or twice, when her mother wasn’t around. Simply holding his sweaty, shaking body and whispering words of comfort was enough. He had seen so many deaths and sometimes, at night, he re-lived them in his nightmares.

She remembered those precious times they’d snatched together. Not as many as there might have been, as Harry had gone straight into Auror training and she’d been working for George, keeping an eye on her grieving, and often drunk, brother over the summer. Every moment she’d had with Harry was treasured. The holiday with the Grangers had been the best; Two blissful weeks away from her mother’s all-seeing eyes. They’d enjoyed some very passionate snogs on that holiday and things had got very hot more than once. Ginny smiled encouragingly at him; _Say the words_ , she willed. Harry remained silent.

In all those months since the battle, Harry had used ‘need,’ or ‘like,’ or ‘fancy,’ but never ‘love’. Ginny hadn’t minded; he had been honest and passionate, and on the day they’d got back together, almost a week after the battle, he had told her that he wanted to be with her forever. That had been an emotional day, and Harry hadn’t even realised what he’d said; but he had meant it, she knew that.

Harry still needed time to come to terms with his feelings, with his future. Her Dad hadn’t helped. “Don’t rush into things,” he’d told Harry. To her annoyance, Harry had listened. He was ever the patient Seeker, watching, waiting for the right moment to snatch the prize. She was the active Chaser, looking for action. Perhaps that was why they made a great team.

Their hot chocolates arrived. They drank, and Harry finally began a conversation—but not the one Ginny had hoped for. He chatted. They talked about Head Girl Hermione, about Trainee Aurors Ron and Neville, and the other two Trainee Aurors, Susan Bones and Terry Boot. They talked about the Auror Training Programme, about Quidditch, about her new team. _Ask me about the letter again, give me an opening_ , she willed. He didn’t.

When they finished their drinks, Harry paid, took her hand, and led her out through the streets of Hogsmeade towards the Hog’s Head. Several students stared at them. Some, Ginny knew, hadn’t believed the stories that Ginny Weasley was Harry Potter’s girlfriend. There were no photographs of them together, and this was one of the first times that they’d walked, hand in hand, through a magical location.

Many witches and wizards called out, ‘Hello, Mr Potter,’ and Harry returned their greetings, using their names if he knew them. But he didn’t stop to talk, though it was obvious that many people wanted him to. He only stopped when they met Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was arm in arm with a pretty, dark skinned girl.

‘Hello, Harry; hello, Ginny. We’re meeting at noon, aren’t we?’ he asked. ‘Raveena, these are my friends Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley—this is Raveena Singh.’ The girl completely ignored Ginny, because she couldn’t take her eyes off Harry. Ginny determinedly kept her expression neutral as Raveena stammered a ‘Hello,’ and stared at Harry’s forehead.

After confirming the time of the meeting with Justin, Harry and Ginny continued on their way to the Hog’s Head. A notice on the door to the pub read, “Closed for Private Party.” Harry ushered Ginny inside. The scruffy bar had been roughly cleaned and cleared; one large, circular, table with twenty-five chairs dominated the room. Aberforth Dumbledore looked up from his bar and nodded.

‘Harry, Ginny,’ he grumbled.

Harry walked over to two large boxes. He opened the first and brought out a dozen bottles of Madam Rosmerta’s oak-matured mead. Aberforth scowled.

‘You don’t have any mead to sell, Aberforth,’ Harry reminded him. ‘But we’ll drink your Butterbeer and Firewhisky. I’ve hired the whole place, remember, and I’ve organised the catering. The food’s arriving at one o’clock.’

‘You’re not going to make a habit of this, are you?’ Aberforth grumbled. ‘I’ve got my regulars to consider, you know.’

‘I’m sure that they’ll _both_ be able to make alternative arrangements this afternoon.’ Harry grinned at the barman. Aberforth grunted and turned his back, his shoulders shaking slightly. Ginny was convinced that the old barman was quietly laughing. Harry opened the second box; it was full of banners and balloons.

‘What’s going on,’ asked Ginny, ‘I thought that this was a DA meeting?’

‘It’s a DA thank you party,’ Harry told her. ‘A gift from me, to all of the people who’ve stuck with me over the years. I’ve paid for everything. I’ve booked this place until six o’clock tonight. I thought that we should celebrate the three years since we formed … and remember our friends …’

Ginny was astonished, Harry was throwing a party. Typically, though, he hadn’t actually told anyone that it _was_ a party. She looked him in the eyes.

‘We agreed, you promised me, Harry; no more secrets,’ she teased him.

‘This isn’t a secret; it’s a surprise,’ he explained, a twinkle in his eye.

‘You sneaky sod, Potter,’ Ginny laughed, wondering how long he’d been saving that excuse. ‘I’m going to need to watch you carefully, aren’t I?’

He smiled shyly. ‘I can’t object to that. After all, I like watching you.’

She put her hands on his chest and pushed him backwards into the nearest chair; then she sat astride him and pulled herself close, very close.

‘You say the nicest things,’ she whispered huskily, ‘and you wri…’

The door to the pub burst open and Ron and Hermione walked in, hand in hand.

‘Bloody hell, Ginny! Get off him,’ said Ron by way of greeting. ‘That looks positively…’

‘Fun?’ Hermione suggested. Ron blushed, but Ginny didn’t laugh; another moment was gone. She was, however, relieved to hear Hermione crack a joke, no matter how feeble. Hermione definitely needed to see more of Ron and Harry. At school, she was constantly the serious and proper Head Girl. After four weeks, Ginny had seen only a few glimpses of her best friend behind the façade. She needed to get Hermione to loosen up, before she turned into a female version of Percy.

‘We thought that you might need help with the decorations,’ her brother continued.

So, Ron had known that the meeting had become a party, but he hadn’t told her. Bloody Ron. He had spoiled another opportunity for her. He always interrupted when she got cosy with Harry, too; a Bat-Bogey, that’s what he needed. She slid off Harry’s lap and turned to face her brother.


	3. Hogsmeade: Miscommunication

**3\. Hogsmeade: Miscommunication**

Ron took a step backwards and drew his wand. He was fast, a lot faster than Ginny had expected. It was obvious that Auror training was speeding up his reactions. Ron was watching her warily, and Hermione was looking annoyed. She was prepared to side with him, Ginny realised. Still fuming at her brother’s interruption, Ginny considered her options.

Behind her, Harry spoke, ‘C’mon, Ginny,’ he suggested quietly. She heard the chair move and felt his hand, a soft and gentle pressure on her shoulder. ‘We should really start work. We need to get these decorations put up.’ She lowered her wand and turned to face him. Her boyfriend held up some streamers and looked at her hopefully. Her anger faded. This had been Harry’s idea. He had organised everything himself, and she was not going to be the one to spoil it for him. She smiled, stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

‘Good idea,’ she told him before whirling around to face her still worried-looking brother. ‘Come on, Ron, what are you waiting for?’

The Hog’s Head was soon unrecognisable; streamers, banners and balloons were hanging everywhere. Aberforth Dumbledore scowled and grumbled loudly as the four worked, although when she caught him unawares—just for a second—Ginny thought that she caught a twinkle in his eye. It wasn’t long before the walls of the dingy old pub were hidden behind a riot of colourful decorations. The largest banner read “Dumbledore’s Army, 3rd Anniversary Party.”

Ginny and Hermione were still busy decorating the tablecloth when Luna and Dean arrived, hand-in-hand. A solemn Dennis Creevey followed closely behind them.

‘No camera,’ Dean asked Dennis cheerfully.

‘I’m not a photographer,’ Dennis told him harshly, through tightly clenched teeth. ‘That was my brother.’

‘It was,’ Luna agreed.

In an attempt to reduce the sudden tension, Harry took Dennis aside and asked how his parents were. Ginny, manwhile suggested that Luna and Dean added the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff crests to the cloth. They worked well together, and produced an impressive and colourful table decoration. Justin, the last of the students, arrived ten minutes before noon; he was sporting a black eye.

‘Raveena’s brother doesn’t like me,’ he explained, as Hermione treated his bruise.

‘He can’t go around punching people,’ said Hermione crossly. ‘Especially not you, Justin, you’re Head Boy. You should report him to the Headmistress.’

‘I was giving his sister a goodbye kiss; he took offence at my behaviour,’ Justin explained, shrugging off the injury. ‘Raveena didn’t tell me that she was only fifteen, but I should have realised. We’re not in school now, Hermione, and he thought that I deserved it.’

‘Was it worth it?’ asked Ginny, grinning. ‘Did the kiss make up for the black eye?’

‘No,’ Justin said sadly, ‘not really. It was rather disappointing, in fact. It doesn’t matter, though. There are plenty of other pretty girls in the school, and a lot of them are closer to my age.’ He winked at Ginny as he spoke. She shook her head despairingly and laughed at him.

By noon, the room was ready. They were finished just in time, as almost everyone arrived within the final ten minutes. The original Dumbledore’s Army came into the pub in a confusing and good-natured rush, and the bar was suddenly filled with gossip and banter.

George Weasley had been one of the first to arrive. Before greeting his brother and sister, he strode over to Dennis Creevey,and slapped him on the back, almost flattening the tiny fifth year. George was followed in by three Hufflepuffs. Justin hugged Susan Bones, who responded with no more than a prim and polite nod, and then shook Ernie Macmillan’s hand. He greeted Hannah Abbott rather awkwardly, shaking his ex-girlfriend’s hand embarrassedly before rapidly moving away.

Katie Bell strolled into the room chatting animatedly to Angelina Johnson. Alicia Spinnet, and Lee Jordan, who were arm-in-arm followed immediately behind.

Lavender Brown was next; she arrived with the Patil twins and Seamus Finnegan. Lavender was still in her wheelchair. Her face, framed by her dark brown curls, was pale: her cheeks were hollow and her violet eyes were sunken and dark-rimmed. Harry and Ginny immediately made their way across to speak to her. The Healers’ latest prognosis wasn’t good; “unlikely ever to fully recover,” Lavender told them. She was understandably bitter and uncharacteristically bad tempered and snappy, especially with poor, doting Seamus.

Ginny watched the four latest arrivals carefully Seamus, Lavender and Parvati had, with Neville, been the only four seventh-years in Gryffindor last year; Seamus and Lavender had become close, and Ginny had watched their relationship develop until her sudden departure at Easter. Now, Seamus considered it his duty to stick by his injured girlfriend as she’d stuck by him after the beatings he’d received from the Inquisitorial Squad and the Carrows.

Half an hour later, after everyone had complimented Harry and expressed their surprise at the party, various groups had formed. Harry was talking to the trio of young women he still thought of as “the Chasers”, and also to Lee. Katie was trying to persuade Harry to attend another charity ball. He was, as Ginny expected, bringing up dozens of objections.

In different circumstances, Ginny might have tried to persuade her boyfriend, but the ball was during term time and, as she would not be able to attend, she selfishly left them to it and instead did a head count. There were twenty-three people in the bar, not counting Aberforth. Two people hadn’t arrived. She quickly identified the two missing people, Cho nor Neville. _Bloody Cho, bloody Romilda,_ Ginny thought.

She continued her observations, glancing from group to group and observing the changing relationships with interest. Lavender, she noticed, was sitting alone, looking lost and miserable. The Patil twins were both talking to the Ravenclaw boys. Seamus, unusually absent from Lavender’s side, was relaxed and laughing alongside Dean and Luna. Ginny strolled over to Lavender, pulled up a chair and tried to cheer up the wheelchair-bound witch.

‘He doesn’t laugh often these days,’ grumbled Lavender, nodding towards Seamus. ‘And never when he’s with me. He needs a girl he can dance with.’

‘Perhaps he needs you,’ suggested Ginny. Lavender shook her head.

‘We were on the verge of splitting up when Harry arrived in May,’ said Lavender in a confidential whisper. ‘If Seamus hadn’t been so badly beaten the week before Harry arrived, and if I hadn’t been crippled in the battle, we’d both be unattached. He thinks he’s being noble, but he’s not; he’s being stupid. I’ve told him, but he just tells me that I’m not thinking straight and blames it on the lack of painkillers. He needs to get a life.’

‘Would you like me to talk to him?’ asked Ginny.

‘No point,’ said Lavender. ‘Parvati and Padma have both tried.’ She shrugged her shoulders and turned to Ginny. ‘Oh, sod him!’ she said, grinning conspiratorially. ‘Tell me about school. I hear that the Head Girl is a complete pain in the backside, and the Head Boy snogs fifteen-year-olds.’

‘At least you’re keeping up with the gossip,’ said Ginny. ‘What else can you tell me?’

Lavender managed a giggle, and then frowned. ‘Even laughing hurts,’ she grumbled.

She was, as usual, full of juicy gossip. Ginny discovered that both Padma and Michael were working in the Department of Mysteries. In reply, she told Lavender that Katie had refused an offer of a place as Chaser for Puddlemere United in order to continue her charity work. Katie had been signed up the previous year, but the Muggle-born Registration Commission had put a stop to that and Muggle-born Katie had been forced to go on the run instead of following a promising Quidditch career.

Parvati, Ginny was surprised to discover, was training to be a Healer. Lavender had just asked Ginny about Harry when Cho Chang finally arrived. She looked flustered, but glamorous, in a smart Muggle suit.

Harry’s former girlfriend burst through the door, offering extravagant apologies for her late arrival. She made a conversation stopping entrance. _She always did_. Ginny scowled – then, realising what she was doing, tried to set her expression into one of disinterested neutrality. The pretty, dark haired girl was still smiling at everyone and saying hello when the pub door opened again.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Neville Longbottom peered apologetically around the door. ‘I can’t stay, sorry.’ Everyone turned to see the last arrival. Ginny smiled at him; brave, clever, wonderful, noble, hopeless Neville.

‘Bloody Romilda,’ muttered Lavender. Ginny nodded.

‘Of course you can stay, Nev,’ Ginny told him, dashing to the door. She grabbed his arm and pulled him unto the room. ‘Harry’s organised a surprise party for us all.’ Neville looked around the room, taking in all of the smiling faces; he looked worried.

‘But, Romilda,’ Neville began. ‘She’s outside, she’s waiting for me.’

‘Didn’t you tell her about the meeting, Nev?’ Lavender asked, wheeling herself over to join them.

‘Yes, but …’ Neville looked at Lavender in confusion. ‘She, er…’

Ginny smiled grimly. ‘I think that I need to have a word with Romilda! You can’t be the only one missing, Nev. Not after everything you did last year.’

‘I’m coming, too, Ginny,’ announced Lavender loudly. ‘Will you help me to get outside, please? Come on, girls.’

As Ginny began to push Lavender towards the door, Luna broke free from Dean, who had an arm around her waist. Ignoring his protests, Luna too moved towards the door. Susan, Padma, Parvati, and Hannah Abbott followed.

All but Hannah had been at Hogwarts last year when Neville, Ginny, and Luna had taken charge of the DA. Ginny looked around at the determined expressions on the girls’ faces; they certainly weren’t going to let Neville leave. When the scar-faced trainee Auror moved to follow them, Hannah stepped between him and the door and put a hand on his arm. Neville stopped instantly, terrified. Ginny smiled ruefully as she wheeled Lavender outside. Neville could face Death Eaters and even Voldemort with grim determination. Girls, on the other hand … he was almost as bad as Harry.

When the six girls stepped outside, they discovered a small crowd. Romilda Vane stood in the centre of the cluster of curious onlookers. The robes Neville’s girlfriend was wearing were low-cut, and they were attracting a lot of attention from many of the males in the crowd.

‘What’s going on?’ someone shouted.

‘Private party,’ said Ginny, dismissively. ‘Can’t you read?’

‘Romilda,’ called Lavender ‘Find something else to do. Nev’s staying.’

‘How dare you…’ Romilda began, striding towards the pub.

‘Easily,’ snapped Lavender angrily. ‘I’d dare pretty much anything these days. Want to try me?’

While Lavender was sniping at Romilda, Susan and Padma walked over to the Gryffindor sixth-year. Padma put a hand on Romilda’s bare shoulder and whispered something in her ear.

‘What?’ squealed Romilda. 

‘You heard,’ Padma said quietly. ‘Do you want me to repeat it, louder, or are you leaving?’

Romilda blushed scarlet, turned on her heels, and stormed off. ‘Keep him! I’ll find something better to do!’ she snapped.

‘What on earth did you say to her?’ Lavender demanded. Ginny was curious, too. Perhaps those rumours about the Prefects catching Romilda in a compromising position with a Slytherin boy last year were true. Susan shook her head, refusing to speak. Padma glanced at Susan, then at her twin before speaking.

‘We know things about Romilda, things that we suspected she hadn’t told Nev. She obviously hasn’t,’ Padma told Lavender.

‘Tell me,’ Lavender pleaded as the six young women returned to the bar, ignoring the questions from the crowds. Padma shook her head, but Parvati winked at her friend. ‘Later,’ she whispered.

‘Romilda’s gone,’ Lavender told Neville smugly.

‘She says that you can stay, Neville,’ Padma added. ‘And that she’ll find something else to do.’

Neville nodded uncertainly.

Ginny looked around the room, trying to find Harry. It took her some time to find him. He was in a corner at the opposite side of the table and was talking to Cho. She had her arm on Harry’s shoulder, and she was gazing intently up into his eyes. Ginny was annoyed, she hadn’t been outside for more than three or four minutes!

‘Hot in here, isn’t it?’ Ginny asked, and pulled off her jumper. The silence was sudden and absolute. No-one spoke, no-one moved. All of the boys were looking at her chest, she realised. Most of the girls were staring at her, too. Ernie Macmillan’s mouth was hanging open. Michael Corner simply stared. Dean gave a wink and a wolf-whistle. Ron looked at her in astonishment, and began to blush. Hermione shook her head in disapproval.

George rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. ‘Did you paint that on?’ he asked.

‘It is rather tight,’ Luna confirmed.

Ginny glanced down at her vest top. It was _very_ tight; tighter than it had looked when she’d checked herself in the mirror in the dorm, and a lot tighter than she’d intended. By pure force of will she did not blush, instead her stubborn streak took over, and she determinedly tried to brazen her way out of the situation.

‘If you don’t approve, you don’t have to look,’ she announced. She glanced towards Harry, hoping to see his appreciation. She was disappointed; Harry had turned his back on her and returned to his discussion with Cho. As the conversation level slowly rose to a low muttering, Ginny heard her name on several people’s lips. She, it seemed, was going to be the new topic of conversation.

She stared at Harry in disbelief; he continued to ignore her, talking quietly to Cho. She had made him uncomfortable. More than that, she’d embarrassed him, she realised. She could tell that much by his stance, even from behind.

Ginny’s obstinacy refused to allow her to put the jumper back on again. To do so immediately would be an obvious capitulation. There was only one alternative, she would have to pretend that she was perfectly at ease.

Several boys were moving towards her, Michael and Justin were at the fore. Looking for an escape route, she spotted Neville. She strolled over to him and rescued him from an earnest and surprisingly nervous sounding Hannah. Neville was hesitantly telling her about his last year at Hogwarts. Ignoring Hannah’s protests and pretending not to notice Anthony Goldstein, who was also smiling at her, Ginny grabbed Neville by the arm.

‘Tell me about Romilda,’ she asked the young man who was her best male friend, apart from Harry. Linking her arm through his, she began to drag him through the room. She hauled him closer to both Harry and Cho as she tried to hear what Harry was talking about.

‘There’s not much to tell, Ginny,’ Neville blushed. ‘I … sort of … asked her out, she said yes, and we’ve been together for four months, since just before my eighteenth birthday.’

‘What’s she like?’ Ginny asked as they walked. She kept Neville in a tight grip, desperate to make sure that he didn’t try to escape. Her vest was making him nervous. She linked her arm through his and pulled him in closer.

‘She’s …’ Neville paused uncertainly, ‘… I think that she’s nice, although Gran doesn’t like her for some reason. She’s a bit bossy sometimes, but she knows what she wants, and she works to get it.’

‘Like a hero of Hogwarts?’ suggested Ginny acidly continuing to drag Neville closer to Harry and Cho. As she got closer, there was a sudden lull in the conversation.

‘…ten weeks, that should be plenty of time.’ Ginny heard Cho tell Harry, ‘I’ll see you on Wednesday.’

The volume of conversation rose as suddenly as it had fallen. Ginny heard no more. But those few words were enough. No longer interested in what Neville was saying, she stopped listening to him, interrupted his reply, excused herself, and left him bewildered and alone. She strode determinedly towards Harry and Cho. Ten weeks, Cho had said: it was ten weeks until the end of term. She was furious, and desperate to discover what they had been talking about.

Unfortunately, Ginny found her route to Harry suddenly blocked by young men. She seemed to be surrounded by blokes. All were much taller than she was, but then most people were. She was smaller than everyone in the room apart from Dennis, and even he would soon pass her. She could no longer see Harry past the guys. Anthony Goldstein smiled shyly at her, Justin grinned, Michael loomed, and Ernie hovered nervously in the background.

‘Hi, Ginny …’ Michael began. Ginny growled.

‘Out of my way all of you, or you’ll regret it,’ she ordered through clenched teeth. She glared angrily at them. They moved, but not far. She could reach Harry, but only by walking through the very narrow gap they’d created, she would have to brush past them. She wasn’t going to give in; she rudely elbowed her way between Anthony and Justin, who made no effort to move aside, Justin simply grinned at her and Anthony seemed to enjoy the contact.

Harry still had his back to her. Cho, however, had gone. _The cow!_. Harry was now, once again, talking to Katie.

‘Hi, Ginny,’ Katie said, warning Harry of her approach. Ginny glared at her.

‘When’s your next Charity Ball, Katie?’ asked Ginny sharply.

‘Halloween.’ Katie sounded surprised at the question.

‘Are you going?’ Ginny quizzed Harry. He looked puzzled.

‘Do … do you want me to?’ he stammered, ‘I wasn’t going to go, not without _you_.’

‘You could always take someone else,’ suggested Ginny, her emotions in turmoil. Staring up into his face, she tried to decide whether he could be lying, whether he was going, if he was taking Cho. As she waited for his reaction Ginny felt her heart race.

‘You want me to take someone else?’ asked Harry.

He didn’t look guilty, Ginny realised. He was confused, horrified, and suddenly very worried. As Katie watched the exchange, she looked more and more uncomfortable.

‘I think that you two need to talk,’ suggested Katie firmly, ‘I’ll leave you to persuade Harry to attend the ball, shall I?’ She left rapidly. Harry and Ginny glanced at each other. Harry looked away, and then down.

Ginny recalled her final heated argument with Dean. That had been over nothing more than a misunderstanding and, as she remembered, her anger ebbed away. Suddenly worried, she examined her boyfriend carefully; he was slumped and sad. His head was down, his shoulders drooped. He was looking intently at his feet, at his shining black boots.

‘Harry,’ Ginny spoke his name softly and he lifted his head slightly. He was looking at her body, but not in the way she’d hoped and expected. He still wouldn’t look into her eyes. She began to panic. What was happening? Was this simply his embarrassment, or was he trying to find a way to finish with her?

‘Are you all right, Harry?’ Ginny asked hesitantly. ‘Are _we_ all right?’

Harry looked up a little further. Ginny stepped closer and gazed up into his eyes. He looked almost frightened; his wonderful green eyes were clouded and sad.

‘I don’t know,’ he asked. ‘Are we?’

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘Have I… I thought you’d like the vest…’

Harry shrugged non-committally. She reached out an arm towards him, but he stepped back, avoiding her touch. This was serious. She remained silent, waiting.

‘I don’t like the way most of the other guys are looking at you,’ he finally admitted. She was relieved. _Was that all?_

‘Jealous?’ she teased huskily. His face fell, so did hers. Judging by his expression, that one word had been another mistake. _He was supposed to be attracted to her, not upset; this was_ not _going according to plan. The day was turning into a disaster._ Before she could apologise, he spoke.

‘Should I be?’ he asked. His voice was a husky croak which caught in his throat. He sounded extremely worried, almost desperate. ‘Do you want to finish with me? Have I done something wrong?’ he asked, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

‘NO!’ In her panic, Ginny almost shouted her answer. She had not intended to say the word so loudly. The room fell silent and everyone stared at them. Harry took a step backwards, and another, his back hit the wall.

Their stance, their attitude towards each other, everything about them was wrong; it had been almost since they’d met. She had teased him in Honeydukes; but she’d teased him before, often. What had happened? He was again looking at her chest, not her eyes; Harry was worried and unhappy. She looked down – the vest was almost obscenely tight. She had definitely overdone it. She again tried to catch his eyes with hers, she couldn’t.

He was embarrassed to be with her.


	4. Hogsmeade: Conversation

**4\. Hogsmeade: Conversation**

Fighting to stay calm, Ginny watched Harry carefully. He’d backed away from her and she’d followed; now, there was nowhere else for him to go. His back was literally against the wall, and _she_ was the cause. The realisation worried her. Gently putting her left hand on his shoulder, she decided not to drop the jumper she still carried in her right. Slowly moving closer, inching forward until she was almost toe to toe with him, she managed to look up unto his face and catch his sad green eyes.

‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’ She spoke forcefully, though her voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘But I think I’ve been a bit stupid today.’

Behind her, the room was still and silent. She did not need to turn to know that everyone was watching them. Although she caught a glimmer of hope in Harry’s eyes, she could also feel the pressure of the curious stares of their friends. She realised the seriousness of the situation. They were arguing in public, and she could see how being the centre of attention at such a personal moment was effecting Harry She lowered her voice further. ‘I don’t want to finish with you, Harry, I…’ She stopped mid-sentence, somehow managing not to say the ‘L’ word. ‘… I don’t want to be with anyone but you.’

His relief was obvious on his face and in his stance; it was so palpably clear that there was no need for her to ask him anything else. Her concern about Cho vanished and she cursed herself for her stupid jealousy.

She smiled at him. ‘We need to talk, Harry; let’s go outside for a minute,’ she whispered. Shivering theatrically, she lifted her jumper. ‘Now, I’m cold,’ she said loudly. ‘I think I’ll put this back on.’

As she pulled the thick green wool over her head lunch arrived, it was delivered magically to the table. There were gasps of surprise from the entire group. There were meat pies, quiches, hams, cold beef, salads and pickles. It was a massive cold buffet. Harry looked helplessly at Ginny when her head emerged from the jumper.

‘Later,’ she reassured him before tipping her head forward, sliding her hands around her neck and freeing her hair from beneath her jumper. ‘We’ll talk after we’ve eaten.’

‘This is my thank you,’ Harry muttered awkwardly to the group, trying to break the uneasy silence that had fallen. ‘It’s my thank you to all of you for sticking with me, for being there when I needed you, and for all of the amazing things you did last year.’ He looked at Ginny; she smiled encouragingly, took his hand, and led him to the table.

There was a great deal of embarrassment and confusion as everyone tried to find a place to sit. Dennis Creevey was talking to George Weasley, and they moved to sit next to each other. However, when everyone else sat, Dennis stood. The fifteen year old, who was by far the youngest in the group, filled his goblet with butterbeer and raised it. Everyone else hastily filled their goblets with mead.

‘Fred Weasley,’ Dennis said, nodding to George.

‘Fred.’ Everyone raised their goblets.

George then stood.‘Colin Creevey,’ he announced, returning the toast.

‘Colin,’ everyone replied. Even Aberforth Dumbledore had raised a glass to the two fallen members of the DA, Ginny noticed, though he had turned his back on the room, trying to conceal the fact.

After a few moments of mournful silence, George asked, ‘What’re we waiting for? The grub’s going cold.’

There was rather more laughter than should have been expected from such a feeble joke, and much of it sounded self-conscious. The atmosphere between Harry and Ginny combined with Dennis and George’s determined remembrance of their dead siblings had brought a fug of discomfort and depression into the room.

‘Thanks, Harry,’ sang Luna, when the laughter died down. ‘You really are very nice.’

Harry blushed.

Cho stood, raised her glass to Harry, and smiled. ‘To Harry, who really is very nice,’ she said.

There were cheers and more laughter as Harry managed a shy smile. Ginny forced herself to smile and raise her glass, wishing that she’d thought of doing what Cho had done. Cho’s actions had once again unsettled her; she was certain that the Ravenclaw was up to something. But whatever was going on, Ginny was sure that, at least so far as Harry was concerned, it wasn’t romantic. That fact had been obvious from Harry’s desperate plea before the meal, and that was all that mattered.

‘We should have a reunion every year,’ Ron suggested. There were mutters of agreement as everyone began helping themselves to the food.

As people began to eat, drink and gossip, the atmosphere rapidly began to improve. The meal progressed slowly, as those who had left school told each other where they were working, and old acquaintances were renewed. Ginny watched Harry carefully from the corner of her eye, trying not to make her surveillance apparent to anyone.

As everyone’s attention moved away from him, Ginny watched Harry become noticeably more relaxed. He was sitting between her and Hermione, who was firing dozens of questions about Auror training at both Ron and Harry. Listening to the conversation, Ginny realised that she knew almost everything Hermione was being told. Harry’s letters to her were obviously much more informative than the ones Ron was sending to Hermione. That alone was enough to make Ginny feel better.

While trying to keep an eye on her boyfriend, Ginny held a half-hearted conversation with Neville, who was on her right. She amused herself by trying to analyse the seating arrangements. Everyone had simply grabbed a seat with their friends. Luna was between Neville and Dean; then came Seamus, Lavender and Parvati. Michael had squeezed himself between the twins, meaning that he had probably decided to chat one of them up. As he was working with Padma in the Department of Mysteries, Ginny assumed that Parvati was his target.

The other Ravenclaws were clustered together. Then there was Hannah, sitting between Terry and Ernie. She was as far away from her ex-boyfriend as she could manage while also remaining with her fellow Hufflepuffs. She and Justin hadn’t spoken, and Justin’s tale of his black eye hadn’t gone down well with either Ernie or Susan. As she glanced across at the Hufflepuffs, she was surprised to see Hannah glaring at her. Ginny was puzzled for a moment, and then realised why. In her attempt to cover her embarrassment, she’d pulled Hannah and Neville apart. Hannah would be better for Neville than Romilda. She should make amends, get them back together; she owed Hannah that.

There was no point in confronting Harry about his feelings, not here and now. Getting him talking would require time, tact, patience and privacy. For a moment, Ginny considered the possibility of simply dragging him away from the Hog’s Head. She immediately dismissed the idea. It would spoil the party, and it was selfish of her; she couldn’t keep him to herself all of the time, though it would have been nice to have more time alone with him than she’d managed.

Ginny tried to work out how they had ended up in such a ridiculous situation, and what her options were. She’d hurt him. Harry rarely pushed himself to the fore; he took control only when necessary. While he tolerated being the centre of attention, he’d never really liked it. He had never enjoyed the stares and whispers or the fame; he had simply become good at ignoring them. This, of course, made his life ridiculously complicated. He’d spent years ignoring the gawkers and gossipers. Harry would, she realised, spend the rest of his life trying to be less famous than he was. And at the same time he had taken a job which would often result in him getting his name in the papers.

The headlines would never be pushed back to page ten, just as they would never read “Aurors Arrest.” They would be front page headlines, and they’d proclaim “Potter Arrests”, even if all he did was stand around while Ron did the work. She and Ron had actually joked about that over the summer. Ron would love the publicity, but he knew that it would never be his. She thought back to that conversation with her surprisingly thoughtful brother. When she had wondered aloud why Ron didn’t get more annoyed, he’d said, “I don’t need to, Harry gets annoyed enough for both of us.” It was during that conversation that she had finally realised how selfless her youngest brother could be.

Over the summer, she and Harry had spent much of their free time in the Muggle world. He was so much happier in that world. When they were there, no one pointed or stared at him. It was, he’d told her, like wearing an Invisibility Cloak but still being seen.

It was amazing how frequently he appeared in the Wizarding press. Most of the reports were nonsense. Fortunately, Harry seemed to be impervious to the many wild and hurtful stories in the press, presumably because he’d been at the centre of so many over the years.

Her choice of clothes had been an attention-grabbing mistake, as had her first, joking, response to Harry when they’d met. Harry, she knew from experience, could be very insecure. He had managed to reach the conclusion that she wanted to ditch him based on almost nothing; she tried to work out how. As she tried to analyse what had gone wrong, a series of unpleasant thoughts crossed her mind.

In his last letter he’d told her, in his own clumsy way, that he loved her. When they had met, she made a joke. She suspected that, as a consequence, he’d concluded that she hadn’t welcomed those words. Could he have leapt from that misunderstanding to a belief that she didn’t feel the same way? Knowing Harry, the answer to that was almost certainly yes. She had dressed rather more provocatively than she’d intended. She’d done it for him, but he seemed to have assumed that she’d done it to impress the other boys. Then, when she’d made that remark about taking someone else to the Charity Ball; he’d thought that she was telling him to find someone else. Damn!

Harry was still in mid-conversation with Hermione. She didn’t interrupt; she simply slid her arm around her boyfriend’s waist, squeezed him tightly, and rested her head on his shoulder.

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she whispered. That was enough, she felt him become much more relaxed. There was still something wrong, something worrying him; should she mention the letter? She decided against it. She simply stayed close throughout the meal. She touched him, held him, and reassured him at every opportunity. Knee, arm, hand; regular, gentle contact.

‘Speech,’ everyone shouted as the plates were all cleared away. Harry shook his head.

‘You’ve got to say something, Harry,’ Hermione whispered; Ron nodded his agreement. Harry looked at her, hoping for an ally.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered apologetically. ‘They’re right. After you’ve done all this, you really should say something.’

Harry reluctantly stood and looked around at his friends.

‘I didn’t invite you here to listen to me talk,’ he began. ‘I just wanted to say thank you, and now I have.’

There was a smattering of laughter.

‘So, I’ll simply propose a toast.’ He looked down at Ginny, she smiled encouragingly. As he gazed into her eyes, his own suddenly brightened and sparkled, and he grinned mischievously.

‘I’ve just realised, there is something I want do say,’ he said. ‘This group doesn’t owe its existence to me; I simply ended up as its leader.’ He held out his forearms, palms uppermost, in a gesture of bewilderment. ‘I’ve no idea why!’

Everyone laughed. Ginny was watching and listening very closely. Harry was definitely up to something.

‘It was probably because no one else wanted the job. But, Dumbledore’s Army isn’t mine; not really. It belongs to all of us; especially after the amazing things you all did last year. But as for the beginnings, well, this little group of ours actually owes its creation to a very special lady. A lady who, almost from the day our school year started, just over three years ago, worked tirelessly to make sure that Dumbledore’s Army came into existence.’

Hermione looked down, embarrassed. Ginny stared shrewdly at Harry; he was choosing his words very carefully. She caught George’s eye, he was grinning; he saw her and winked, giving her unneeded confirmation that she was right.

‘Without her drive, her passion and her strongly held beliefs, we would never have started this group. I’m sure, by now, that you’ve all guessed who I’m talking about. I have to say that I’m happy to see that she’s finally been rewarded for her efforts; that she has at last got some well-deserved recognition for her talents.’

Hermione blushed furiously.

‘So, everyone, please raise your glasses and join me in a toast … to Dolores Umbridge; may she rot in Azkaban.’

Ron howled with laughter; Hermione’s jaw dropped, and then she, too, joined in the laughter. Through cheers, Ron kissed his girlfriend, and the meal ended on a much happier note than it had begun.

Ginny had planned to grab Harry the moment that the meal was over, but he was busily apologising to Hermione, and she decided not to interrupt. Her brothers were on their feet instantly, and they had collared her before Harry had finished saying sorry. Ron and George arrived at almost the same instant the dirty dessert plates disappeared from the table. They lifted her bodily from her seat and dragged her to a quiet corner of the room. She wasn’t really surprised and didn’t protest.

‘What the hell are you wearing?’ Ron asked angrily, ‘are you trying to make everyone think that you’re … you’re …’

‘A shameless hussy?’ George interrupted, grinning at Ron’s discomfort. ‘Seriously, not-so-little Ginny, that’s not the sort of top you should be wearing in public. I’m not sure that you should be wearing it in front of Harry in private, either; although I don’t think that you were expecting the reaction you got, were you?’

‘No,’ Ginny murmured sadly.

George pulled her into a powerful hug. ‘What was the idea?’ he asked.

Ginny returned the hug and told her brothers. ‘I haven’t seen him in a month; I thought that I’d give him a treat.’

‘You gave every bloke in the room a treat,’ Ron told her.

‘Except us, of course,’ George added. ‘You just made your two favourite brothers unhappy; don’t do it again, or I’ll be forced to take serious measures.’

‘What could you possibly do?’ snorted Ginny dismissively.

‘I’ll take a photograph of you in that top.’ George told her.

‘And then what?’ she rejoined sarcastically, curling her lip.

‘He’ll send it to Dad,’ Ron informed her, a wicked smile on his face. George grinned at Ron’s observation and at Ginny’s look of abject horror. He slapped his brother on the back.

‘Little Ronniekins is not as thick as he lets everyone think, is he?’ George chortled.

‘You can relax, boys,’ sighed Ginny, ‘I’ve learned my lesson; I really have. I’ll save the mini-skirt and halter top for a day when I can guarantee that I’ll get the desired reaction from my boyfriend.’

Ron blushed to the tips of his ears; George laughed loudly and pulled his sister into another tight hug.

‘You’d better be careful, little Ginny,’ he told her. ‘Just, remember, if you can’t be good, be careful.’

‘Good,’ boasted Ginny, finally laughing at last at the ridiculous situation she’d found herself in, and thankful to George for lifting her spirits, ‘I’m not going to be good, I’m going to be bloody brilliant, and so is Harry!’

George laughed. Ron, however, was obviously uncertain whether to laugh or not, so he changed the subject.

‘Found out anything about the Slytherin team?’ he asked her.

Ginny nodded and proceeded to tell her brothers about her upcoming first match against Gryffindor’s fiercest rivals. For several happy minutes, she forgot her worries as she entertained her brothers with the information she’d discovered about her opposition.

‘Girls?’ Ron snorted in disbelief. ‘They’ve never let girls on their team before.’

‘You probably won’t be able to tell the difference,’ said George. ‘Most of the Slytherin girls look like blokes, anyway. There was one in our year who had a moustache!’

‘According to Charlie, that was because you and Fred spiked her pumpkin juice,’ said Ginny.

‘True,’ George admitted. ‘But you have to admit that the Fenella Gray girl, the one we met at Colin’s funeral, is taller than every bloke in this room except Ron, and Terry.’

‘Fenella’s okay, George,’ Ginny said. ‘She helped Colin and Dennis, remember?’

George shrugged and nodded. He looked around the room at the mention of the Creeveys. ‘The little squirt is looking a bit lost again; he really misses Colin, you know,’ he said, and strolled off to talk to the fifth year.

‘George and Dennis,’ observed Ron curiously as he watched his brother amble across the room. ‘D’you think that they’re good for each other, Ginny? Sometimes I think that they just argue about whose brother was best.’

‘I think they _are_ helping each other cope,’ Ginny replied after a few moments consideration. ‘George has us, but Dennis has no other brothers or sisters. George thinks that he’s doing Dennis a favour, being a surrogate big brother. I think he’s actually helping himself at least as much as he’s helping Dennis. But Dennis appreciates the attention, especially from one of the oldest DA members. George is right; Dennis is so much younger than the rest of us. It must be really hard for him’

‘He’s two years below you,’ Ron told her. ‘That’s the difference between George’s year and us, it’s not that much.’

‘He’s going to be an Auror, you know,’ Ginny told her brother.

‘Dennis!’ Ron looked astonished. ‘He’s got about as much chance as Lavender.’

‘He’s as determined as Lavender,’ Ginny said. ‘He’ll do it.’

Ron shrugged, took a deep breath and asked the question Ginny had been waiting for ever since George had left them.

‘How’re things between you and Harry? Hermione held me back when you took off your jumper; she said that Harry wouldn’t want a scene. She told me that you and Harry would sort it out. But you haven’t, have you?’

Ginny gazed up into her brother’s deep blue eyes, a foot above her own, and wondered why she was trying to sort things out by herself.

‘Ron,’ Ginny, admitted, her face serious. ‘I’ve hurt Harry’s feelings. I didn’t do it deliberately, but I did it. I need a few minutes alone with him; will you help me to prise him away from everyone else?’

‘Of course I will.’ Ron smiled. ‘I know what he’d be like if you two don’t sort this out. So do you. He’ll fret and brood and... I haven’t him in one of those moods since ... you... We’ve got to fix things; I can’t cope with him being like this for days, or weeks.’

Ron stopped caught Ginny’s eyes, and spoke solemnly. ‘You know, there’ve been loads of times over the last couple of years where I’ve had a go at Harry; told him not to mess you about. He didn’t always appreciate it. And neither did you, I know that. But now, I’m going to tell you! He’s my best mate, Ginny; don’t you mess him about, either, be straight with him. If you two split, it will be hell for everybody; you could break him.’

Annoyed by Ron even making such as suggestion, Ginny opened her mouth to protest.

‘Let me finish,’ Ron ordered firmly. Astonished, she did.

‘If you intend to dump him, do it sooner, not later. Me n’ Hermione will pick up the pieces. If you’re serious, and now that I’m living with him in Grimmauld Place with him I can tell you that I’m absolutely bloody certain that he’s serious about you, don’t let him brood.’ Ron looked over the top of her head, ‘Now’s your chance, he’s with Hermione and Neville. Let’s go.’

Ginny hugged her brother and they walked rapidly towards Harry. Michael Corner had obviously failed to impress Parvati; he moved to intercept them, but Ron blocked his approach and grinned wickedly as he placed a firm hand on the dark-haired Ravenclaw. Ron had never liked Michael.

She continued past Ron and a protesting Michael, but found her path blocked by Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell.

‘Can I ask a personal question?’ Alicia asked cautiously.

‘I think you just have,’ Ginny sighed. ‘But yes, I’m still going out with Harry.’

‘That’s not what I want to know,’ Alicia said, a surprised look on her face, ‘I’m not interested in Harry, Ginny,’ she said. ‘Frankly, I still see that scrawny undernourished little first year whenever I look at him. I don’t think many of the girls here _are_ interested. He’d be too much hard work.’

‘No more “hard work” than I am,’ observed Ginny wryly. ‘So, what did you want to ask me, Alicia?’

‘How did you do it?’ Alicia asked.

‘Do what?’

‘The vest top, how did you make it so tight?’ the older girl asked in a whisper.

Ginny grinned. ‘Carefully applied Shrinking Charms plus a Cushioning Charm for the chest. It isn’t really very difficult. I can show you, but not now; I _really_ need to speak to Harry.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ Alicia smiled and let Ginny pass.

As she continued towards Harry, Ginny saw Hannah Abbott standing alone and looking rather lost. She approached the blonde witch and looked up into her grey eyes.

‘I was rude, before, Hannah,’ apologised Ginny, ‘I shouldn’t have interrupted your conversation with Nev.’

Hannah said nothing.

‘Let’s both go and talk to Harry,’ Ginny suggested, Hannah glanced towards Harry, Hermione and Neville and nodded silently.

When they reached Harry, they discovered that he was involved in a complicated discussion with Hermione about werewolf rights. Neville was looking bored.

‘You were telling Hannah about last year at school, Nev,’ Ginny said. ‘And I interrupted. Hannah’s been asking me about it,’ she lied, ‘I thought, as you were there right to the end and I wasn’t, you could answer her questions.’

‘What do you want to know, Hannah?’ Neville enquired.

‘Well, just, what really happened,’ said Hannah nervously.

‘That will take all day,’ Neville told her, smiling, ‘I hear that you did a good job, too, eavesdropping on Death Eaters, passing information to the resistance.’

‘It wasn’t much...’ The buxom blonde witch smiled modestly and took a step backwards. Ginny watched with interest as Hannah backed away from Harry and Hermione. Neville followed almost unconsciously.

Harry and Hermione were still discussing werewolves. Ginny listened to them in silence. She was desperate to interrupt, but she was happy to be close to a Harry who was obviously passionately interested in the topic of conversation. Ron joined them, winked at his sister, and changed the subject, teasing Hermione about being Head Girl. Ginny took the opportunity to move her boyfriend away from Ron and Hermione.

‘I seem to have made a bit of a fool of myself today, Harry,’ she said. ‘Thank you for the party; it was a great idea, and we should do it again next year. If we do, I promise that I’ll behave myself.’

Harry looked at her, sadly, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve done something to upset you, Ginny; I really missed you this last month.’

‘I’ve been missing you, too, Harry; shall we go outside for a while? We could try to find somewhere quiet to talk.’

Harry nodded; he rather hesitantly reached forwards. He was even uncertain whether it would be all right for him to take her hand. She grabbed it eagerly and gave a squeeze of encouragement. He led her towards the door. _At last, time alone_ , Ginny thought.

At that moment, a bell chimed. The noise came from inside Hermione’s robes.

‘Hogwarts students,’ the Head Girl announced, ‘we have half an hour to get back to school before Filch closes the gates and reports us to the Headmistress. It’s a fifteen minute walk, so we need to be getting ready to leave.’


	5. Hogsmeade: Reconciliation

**5\. Hogsmeade: Reconciliation**

Hermione’s announcement stunned Ginny. Half an hour! It wasn’t long enough. It was unfair. She swore loudly, prompting an annoyed, ‘Really, Ginny!’ from the Head Girl.

Ginny ignored her friend’s scolding, concentrating on what was important. ‘What happens if we’re late?’ she asked Hermione.

‘Hogsmeade privileges are revoked for one or more visits,’ Hermione said. ‘It’s the Headmistress’s decision.’

‘Damn,’ said Ginny, scowling. She would have accepted a month of detentions and she’d even have considered a Quidditch ban, but missing Hogsmeade meant she’d miss Harry’s visits.

Harry looked downcast again. ‘I’ll see you at the Slytherin match,’ he said sadly. ‘And then at the November Hogsmeade visit, unless you don’t make it back in time today.’ He shifted his feet nervously. ‘Do you want me to walk you back to school? Or would you rather fly?’

‘Being with you is better than flying,’ Ginny told him forcefully. He finally cracked a smile. It was the first real smile he’d given her since she’d surprised him outside Honeydukes what now seemed to be several bleak dark days ago. ‘Walk me to the gates, please, and we can talk on the way. We can stay outside the school gates until the last possible minute.’

She scurried to the pegs by the door and hurriedly searched through the cloaks to find her own. Several others had been hung on top of it. She hauled them off and threw them at Ron.

‘Sort these out for me, please,’ she begged. Ron opened his mouth to protest, and then saw her face. Nodding, he motioned for her to leave. She looked around for her broom; it was missing. She panicked for a second, until she realised that Harry, his coat already buttoned, was holding it for her.

‘I’ll see you later,’ said Harry, waving farewell to the DA as he opened the door. Ginny felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Harry could come back, the party could continue, and she’d be stuck in school. He allowed her to step outside first. She stepped into the lane, and into a series of camera flashes.

‘Mr Potter, Mr Potter,’ a reporter called. ‘Is it true that you’re entertaining a dozen girls in there, some still at school?’

‘Oh, sod off!’ Ginny exploded. Harry, his face pale, stood in the pub door and said nothing. The camera continued to flash. Ginny fought back the urge to hex the photographer. Instead, she slipped past her boyfriend and darted back into the pub.

‘Guys,’ she begged, in her best little-girl-lost voice. ‘Could you give us some help, please? The press are outside.’

George was at the door in an instant. He was closely followed by Dennis, Ron, Lee and Neville. Harry, who stood in silence ignoring the shouted questions from the reporters, stepped aside and let them pass. George moved towards the photographer, trying to keep himself between the camera and Harry. He pulled several Weasley products from his cloak and began a well-rehearsed sales pitch, trying to sell the joke items to the photographer. Ron, Neville and Dennis did their best to prevent the photographer from avoiding George. Lee, meanwhile, approached the journalists and began asking them questions. 

Ginny and Harry finally had their opportunity to escape. She grabbed his hand. ‘Wanna fly my broom?’ she asked. ‘I wouldn’t let anyone else do it!’ she added with a smile.

Harry grinned and straddled the broom. She sat behind him and wrapped her arms tightly around his chest. He was still lean, but she noticed that he was getting noticeably more muscular.

‘As fast as you like,’ she suggested. He kicked off, and they shot almost vertically into the air. He was flying away from the school, towards the village. As he pushed the broom at maximum acceleration, Ginny’s cloak, and her unbound hair, fluttered in the slipstream.

‘I wonder how the press found out?’ Harry asked as he levelled off the broom. Ginny’s first (and uncharitable) thought was to blame Cho. But that, she admitted to herself, was unlikely.

‘Dunno, but keep flying fast,’ she shouted. ‘It helps me think.’

‘Me, too,’ he replied, taking a hand from the broom and squeezing hers, which were still clasped around his chest. For a moment, she was thankful that the press had come. Flying was a passion for Harry; he used it to clear his head. It was the same for her. They both needed this. She squeezed his hips between her knees.

They soared over the trees, and sped back towards the school. Harry suddenly dropped the broom low and turned sharply. Confident in his flying, she knew that he was simply testing the Stormcloud. His gasp of pleasure as he discovered its manoeuvrability made her hold him tighter. As they whirled through the air she tried to gather her thoughts while simultaneously concentrating on the pleasure of holding Harry tightly. 

‘No one in the DA,’ she assured Harry, confident that her trust was justified. But if it wasn’t, then who else knew? Ginny wondered. There seemed to be only three alternatives, the girl whose brother had thumped Michael, the brother himself, or…

‘Romilda,’ decided Ginny. ‘Nev will have told her where he was going, and she was annoyed that we took her boyfriend away from her.’ She felt a vague pang of guilt when she spoke. Neville and Hannah had been talking and laughing together when they had left. And while she didn’t like Romilda, Nev apparently did, and she shouldn’t have pushed Hannah and Neville together.

‘Romilda?’ queried Harry. ‘Do you really think so? What should we do?’

She should try to be nice to Romilda, for Neville’s sake, she knew. But how could she be nice to Romilda Vane, the girl who had almost got Ron killed – even for Neville? She couldn’t.

‘There’s nothing we can do about it now, Harry, except hope that Nev ditches her.’ 

‘That’s unlikely,’ replied Harry. ‘I sit next to him at work, and he never talks about anyone else. Ron says that he’s as pathetic as…’

Harry stopped in mid-sentence and Ginny felt him tense. They were rapidly approaching the school gate, but that wasn’t the reason for his tension. She gave him an encouraging hug.

‘As pathetic as we are,’ Harry admitted. ‘Three trainee Aurors, and all of us with a girlfriend who is still at school. The older guys rib us constantly. At least Ron and I only have to wait until next summer. Neville has still got another year after that to be teased. Do you really think it was Romilda? I’ll talk to him about her on Monday, if you think it’s a good idea.’

‘No,’ Ginny said firmly. ‘We don’t know that it was Romilda. I could be wrong. Let’s just forget it.’

Harry pulled up the broom and slowed to make a gentle landing only yards away from the school gate. Many of the younger children were already making their way back into the school grounds. A giggling group of third year girls stood and stared as Ginny and Harry dismounted. Harry handed her the broom, ignoring the whispers from the girls. Ginny curled her lip at them and snarled; the girls fled through the gates.

‘It flies well,’ he said as she took the broom from him. ‘It’s not quite as fast as a Firebolt, but it seems to be even more manoeuvrable. Do you like it?’

‘Of course I do,’ said Ginny smiling at him. He was staring at his feet again. ‘It was a seventeenth birthday present from my boyfriend. I love it and treasure it,’ she assured him.

Harry looked pleased, but a little confused, too. ‘Have I been stupid again? Am I being stupid again? I’m not a very good boyfriend, am I?’ he asked.

Ginny shook her head firmly. He was blaming himself again. He probably always would—for everything, Harry “it’s my fault” Potter.

‘You’ll do for me, Harry,’ she told him, smiling. ‘And, I think we’ve both been stupid.’

‘You’re not stupid,’ he told her as they walked towards the school gate.

‘Foolish, then,’ she said.

‘Pupils only,’ Filch reminded Harry bumptiously.

‘That’s fine,’ snapped Ginny. ‘I’m staying out here until it’s time for you to close the gates.’

Grabbing Harry’s hand, she led him off the path along the edge of the boundary wall. Piles of autumn leaves had formed an unstable wind-blown embankment against the high stone wall. As they scrunched through the fallen foliage they scattered a rustling line of scarlet, amber and brown in their wake. The smells of autumn greeted them: damp air, wet leaves, early leaf mulch, and decaying timber pervaded the atmosphere. They stopped a few dozen yards from the gate.

‘I wanted today to be perfect for us,’ began Ginny, leaning back against the school wall and looking up into his face. The dry leaves almost reached her knees. ‘The party was a great idea, really good, and I think it went really well. But between us...’ she hesitated and gave him an apologetic look. ‘Between us it’s been a bit of a disaster, hasn’t it?’

‘Sorry,’ apologised Harry.

‘What are _you_ sorry for?’ she asked firmly. ‘Have you done something wrong? What do you think that you’ve done that you need to apologise for?’

‘Er,’ Harry began. There was no time for Harry’s “er’s,” so she interrupted him.

‘You miss me; that’s obvious, and I miss you, too. I miss you so much that sometimes I think I’m going crazy. At least you write to me; you write wonderful letters to me.’

‘You write great letters to me, too,’ Harry told her seriously. She waited silently, but he didn’t take the bait; he didn’t talk about his last letter. She tried a different line.

‘Ron told me off today,’ Ginny informed her boyfriend. ‘He told me not to mess you about,’

Harry gave her a rueful smile. ‘I hope that you weren’t too hard on him; he means well. He’s a good man, your brother.’

‘I know,’ Ginny told him honestly. ‘He wouldn’t be your best friend if he wasn’t. I wasn’t hard on him at all. He’s not the most sensitive person I know, so if he spotted that I had hurt your feelings, then…’

Harry stopped her by gently placing an ice-cold finger on her lips. He wasn’t dressed for flying, but neither was she; she shivered.

He looked seriously at her. ‘It’s not your fault, either, you know; I have been a bit foolish today. I was worried and confused and jealous. I was a bit crazy, I … the other guys … they … that vest.’ 

‘Next time,’ she reassured him, ‘I won’t wear the vest.’

Harry raised an eyebrow, then began to chuckle. It was a low, almost dirty, noise she hadn’t heard before. He was blushing at the same time.

‘In that case, you should definitely keep your sweater on, no matter how hot it is. Otherwise you’ll cause an even bigger fuss amongst the other blokes.’

She slapped his arm softly. ‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it,’ she began to protest. Catching the twinkle in his laughing green eyes, she began to giggle, and then she burst out into hopeless, helpless, relieved laughter. She fell into his arms, slipped her arms around his back and then slid them up to hold his shoulders.

‘Oh, Merlin, Harry, I’ve missed you.’

She hugged him tightly. Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself together, looked up into his eyes and tried to explain.

‘The vest was for you,’ she clarified.

‘It definitely won’t fit me,’ Harry replied, his expression serious, his eyes mischievous. She fought down her frustration. Her attempt to have a serious conversation was being met by humour. It was Honeydukes again, but this time in reverse. She pulled herself up towards him and tried to kiss him. It was a feeble attempt; his response was cautious, tentative.

‘That doesn’t count,’ she announced, ‘it certainly wasn’t one of them.’

‘One of what?’ asked Harry curiously.

‘The kisses from your letters,’ she explained. ‘Remember what you wrote: “one’s enough, if it’s a good one.” You owe me sixteen good kisses, Harry.’

‘And you owe me fourteen, and, if that was one of the ones from your first letter, twenty-three more not-so-good ones,’ he replied. He looked serious; the mischief was gone from his eyes and, for once, Ginny found herself having difficulty recognising his mood.

She released him, reached up, and cupped his cheeks in her hands. Sliding her fingers back around his ears and into his hair she interlocked them at the back of his head and gently pulled him down towards her. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his chin.

‘Twenty-two,’ she said. She continued kissing him tenderly. Her lips travelled up his jaw, and she counted down all of the way. Upon reaching eighteen, she traversed his cheek. She reached his nose on fourteen and continued across the other cheek (ten) and back down his jaw to his chin. ‘Six,’ she smiled. He smiled cautiously back at her. She pulled his head lower, kissed his nose, then his eyebrows, ‘five, four and three,’ then kissed his forehead ‘two, one,’ she murmured, ‘and finally, zero.’ She gently kissed his scar.

The scar was smooth but hard against her lips; she held him there for some time, held her lips to the lightning bolt on his forehead. His arms, which had remained hanging loosely by his side throughout her kisses finally, tenderly, encircled her waist. She gently lowered herself down and looked into his eyes.

‘Your turn,’ she told him, ‘the first of sixteen good kisses, please.’ Harry hesitated.

‘Do you want to talk?’ she enquired. ‘Ask me anything. I promise that I’ll tell you the truth.’

Harry sighed, returned her gaze, and made a decision.

‘Honestly, why did you wear such a tight vest?’ he demanded.

‘For you, I thought that you’d like it,’ she replied. He looked at her in disbelief. ‘Remember the Harpies t-shirt I was wearing the first morning after you came to The Burrow in the summer, just after the Battle?’

Harry blushed, and nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke. ‘At The Burrow it was just us, in my bedroom—Charlie’s bedroom. The only blokes around were your brothers, and they were downstairs, and that t-shirt wasn’t so tight,’ he emphasised. ‘If that’s what you were doing, why did you hide it under a sweater?’

‘I wanted to surprise you, too.’

‘Surprise me! You surprised everyone,’ he retorted. ‘So why did you take the sweater off when you did?’

He was hurt; his questioning was almost aggressive. Ginny looked into his eyes. “No secrets,” she reminded herself. Perhaps honesty _was_ the best policy.

‘You were talking to Cho,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t like you talking to Cho, sorry.’

Harry looked at her in stunned silence. Ginny watched and waited. He looked surprised and carefully mulled over what she had. His expression moved from surprise, through bemusement, and finally came to disappointment.

‘Say something!’ she begged. ‘Please.’

‘Jealous?’ he asked quietly.

There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. She remembered her recent use of the word, and simply accepted it. ‘That’s the truth,’ she told him. ‘Sorry.’

‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why Cho?’

‘She kissed you first.’

‘Michael kissed you first,’ he said reasonably. ‘But I’m not bothered by _him_ talking to you.’

Ginny caught the inflection in his voice; Harry obviously _was_ worried about someone, but not Michael. Now was not the time to admit that Michael was not the first boy she’d kissed.

‘I’m not interested in anyone else, Harry. Not Michael, not Dean, no one but you,’ she reassured him. ‘I…’ she caught herself again; _don’t say the ‘L’ word_. ‘I fancy you. I don’t want another boyfriend, only you.’

‘You will have kissed and been kissed by dozens more people than I have,’ observed Harry thoughtfully. ‘The first kiss I remember was from Hermione. You’re not jealous of her, too, are you?’

‘Of course not,’ said Ginny dismissively. ‘She’s my friend, and she’s never fancied _you_! I’ve been kissed by my parents, aunts, uncles, brothers.” She stopped. “Oh, damn it, Harry!’ she exclaimed at last. ‘You don’t need to worry about them, or about my old boyfriends. I just want to make up with you. To kiss and make up.’

‘Ron says that, sometimes, I worry too much. I’m sorry,’ he admitted. ‘So there’s no one else?’

‘No,’ she assured him. ‘And you’re not trying to get back with your ex?’

‘Definitely not,’ he said emphatically, ‘I’m not sure what I saw in her. She’s quite pretty, I suppose, but…’ He looked into her eyes and she gazed back into the clear green depths of his. ‘She’s not you,’ he said. ‘Do you realise how … how beautiful you are?’ Harry asked.

‘How can I answer that?’ Ginny protested. ‘If I say yes, I’m big-headed. If I say no, then I’m simply fishing for compliments. Anyway, according to Aunt Muriel, I’m short and dumpy and ginger and freckled.’

‘You’re petite, curvy, chocolate-eyed, flame-haired and perfect,’ he told her forcefully. ‘And…’ he hesitated.

‘And?’ she asked hopefully, her heart pounding.

He put two fingers under her chin and gently lifted her head. ‘And I owe you sixteen very good kisses.’

At Harry’s words, Ginny realised that it wasn’t going to happen, not today. The three little words she’d hoped for hung unsaid between them, waiting for another opportunity to escape. The next time we meet, she promised herself, after he’s written more letters. He’ll say it the next time. _He will definitely say it if we beat the Slytherins in five weeks time._ Her eyes lit up at the thought of post victory celebrations with Harry. But now, she faced more than a month without him.

He looked thoughtful as he cupped her cheeks in his hands; his thumbs were together at the point of her chin. He slowly lowered his lips towards hers. As he did so he slid his thumbs down her chin and neck, halting at her clavicle. For a second his hands encircled her neck before they moved apart. It was an odd, slightly unnerving gesture. Then his right hand slipped back up into her hair, his left slid down to the small of her back and continued down to her backside. His tongue darted out to moisten his cold and dry lips.

His kiss was tentative and tender; his lips brushed hers lightly. His hand held the back of her skull firmly as he deepened the kiss. He was breathing softly through his nose. She felt the warmth of his breath on her cold cheek. His tongue caressed her lips but travelled no further. It was a kiss of restrained passion. I want you, it told her. And I want you to want me. He closed his mouth, let his lips linger on hers for a teasing second, and then pulled away. He sucked in a deep breath.

‘Was that a good kiss?’ he asked.

She almost asked, “Have you been practicing?” but stopped herself in time. Now was not the time to tease. Instead, she nodded.

‘My turn, I think,’ she said. She unbuttoned his overcoat and slipped her arms around him. ‘My hands are cold,’ she explained. She grabbed his well-muscled buttocks and pulled him close.

‘You’re mine, Harry, I want _you_ , no one else.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, gently nibbling his lower lip until he began to respond, to return the passion. She pulled herself forwards, trying to press every part of her body against every part of his. She felt his hands slide inside her cloak and down onto her rear, pulling her closer. She wrapped one leg around his and pulled herself even closer. When she did so, she felt him physically reacting to her closeness, her passion. She let out an involuntary moan and pressed herself into him.

They stayed like that until they were interrupted by Hermione hissing. ‘Harry, Ginny, the reporters are on their way, and it’s time to get back into school.’

Ginny reluctantly released her boyfriend.

‘I’m closing the gate in one minute,’ Filch snarled.

‘C’mon, Ginny, please,’ Hermione begged. She stood in the gate alongside Ron. Their arms were wrapped around each other, and Ginny wondered how long they’d been there.

Ginny stepped back from Harry, who was as reluctant to let her go as she was to release him. She smiled sorrowfully at her boyfriend.

‘See you at the match,’ she told him, as brightly as she could. Hand in hand, they ran to the school entrance. Ginny released Harry’s hand and squeezed past Ron and Hermione, who were still snogging in the gateway, and physically preventing a complaining Filch from closing the gate. As Ginny squeezed into the school, Hermione’s watch chimed again. Hermione stepped sadly away from Ron.

‘Bye, Harry. Bye, Ron,’ Hermione called. Ginny turned and waved, but didn’t speak. Ron, she noticed, had a consoling hand on Harry’s shoulder.

‘Now,’ Hermione told Filch, thrusting her watch under his nose. ‘It is time for you to close the gate.’

‘Bye, Ginny. I miss you,’ Harry shouted. Filch leered maliciously at Ginny and banged the gate closed in triumph. Ginny glared hatefully back at the caretaker and wondered how easy it would be to fire Dungblaster missiles into his office. She turned to see Hermione watching her. The Head Girl was looking a little lost; she, too, was already missing her boyfriend. Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile, and they trudged disconsolately back to the school together.


	6. Quidditch: Auror Action

**6\. Quidditch: Auror Action**

It was a bitterly cold day, but thankfully the northerly gale had blown itself out. The dingy November sky was spattered with hopeful patches of brightness. Brilliant threads of sunlight slipped between the clouds, striping the dark grey with strands of white. A glowing white patch showed where the sun was struggling to break through. Not far from this bright blot in the overarching grey, a few tiny patches of blue were fighting to break the gloom.

_Good conditions for Quidditch_ , thought Harry, as he walked up to the main gates of Hogwarts School alongside Ron and Neville. The three trainee Aurors were not alone. Ahead of them were recently promoted Senior Auror Aubrey Williamson and Aurors Philippa Fortescue and Leonard Lister. At least none of them were wearing their navy blue Auror uniform robes. With Neville’s help, Harry had managed to persuade the Deputy Head Auror, Patience Blood, that casual clothing would be best.

Harry hadn’t had time to send Ginny an owl to tell her the bad news. Their mission had been authorised only two hours earlier, after a review of yesterday’s interview, He’d been in the mission briefing with his colleagues until a matter of minutes ago.

The Headmistress stood on the other side of the gates to meet them. She waved her wand and the gates opened. As she glanced at Harry, he caught the tiniest wrinkle of a smile in the creases around her eyes.

‘Do you really think that he’ll turn up, Auror Williamson?’ asked Minerva McGonagall, a concerned expression on her thin lips.

‘Probably not,’ the pony-tailed Auror admitted. ‘It would be extremely foolish for a wanted Death Eater to attend a Quidditch game here. But Madam Blood has been persuaded that it’s worth checking out.’ Williamson gave Harry a sardonic sidelong glance as he spoke. ‘According to his wife, Wylde watched every game he could when his son was selected, and, this year, his daughter is playing, too.’

‘Girls on the Slytherin team,’ said Ron, grinning, ‘perhaps the world _has_ changed.’

‘I certainly hope that it has, Mr Weasley,’ said the Headmistress severely as, with a flick of her wand she re-secured the main gate to the school. She returned her gaze to the Auror in charge. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to get about your business, Auror Williamson. You can find your own way down to the Hogsmeade gate, I’m sure.’

‘Yes, Professor,’ said Williamson ‘…Headmistress,’ he hastily corrected himself after a single twitch of McGonagall’s right eyebrow.

‘And, Williamson.’

‘Yes, Headmistress?’

McGonagall glanced at Harry, and then stared into Williamson’s face.

‘Despite your apparent misgivings, you should assume that Mr Wylde _will_ arrive. Also, if your activities in _any way_ disrupt today’s game, or worse, injure any of my students, I will be _very_ unhappy.’

‘Er, right; we’ll do our best, Headmistress.’

‘Good,’ Minerva McGonagall turned and strode towards the Quidditch pitch. Williamson rolled his eyes exasperatedly at his fellow Aurors.

‘Do that again, Williamson,’ said the Headmistress, without turning round, ‘and I’ll be having words with Head Auror Robards about your attitude.’

‘Sorry, Headmistress,’ Williamson spluttered.

A subdued Williamson led his team stealthily and silently through the school grounds, past the pitch, and down to the small wooden gate leading to Hogsmeade village. As they walked, Harry gazed longingly around the grounds. He wanted to walk down to the lake, to the tree which had been his—and Ginny’s—favourite hiding place. He wanted to see inside the rebuilt school. Most of all he wanted to see the Quidditch pitch, to see Ginny’s first game as Captain.

Unfortunately he might not see Ginny at all. There was a possibility that he might miss the game, and the chances of him actually being able to talk to her before it started—as he’d promised to do—now seemed vanishingly small. Ginny didn’t know where he was or what he was doing and he could not tell her. Only two hours after he had made the suggestion to Deputy Head Auror Blood, he was regretting it.

‘Are you certain that you’ll be able to identify him, Potter. Even if he’s taken Polyjuice potion?’ Williamson asked.

‘Yes,’ replied Harry.

‘Good,’ Williamson turned to the others, ‘Form a circle, sixty yards across,’ he ordered. ‘Space yourselves out equally.’

‘We can remember your briefing, Aubrey,’ observed Philippa Fortescue quietly. ‘You only finished it a quarter of an hour ago.’

‘Well, get on with it then,’ said Williamson grumpily.

Harry left them to it. His instructions were to wait by the gate. He watched as the three Aurors, together with Ron and Neville, Disillusioned themselves.

‘Hold your positions until the target is identified,’ Williamson ordered, his disembodied voice issuing from the spot where Harry had last seen him.

‘We’ve done this before, Aubrey,’ Philippa told him, her exasperation obvious in her disembodied voice.

‘The trainees haven’t,’ Williamson replied. ‘Everyone, be quiet!’

Harry was left, apparently alone, by the gate. He pulled on his invisibility cloak. To any casual observer the path to the pitch was now completely deserted. On the other side of the gate, Harry knew, there would be a queue forming. Many local residents, together with several proud parents who had made the journey to Hogsmeade, would be waiting to be allowed into the Hogwarts grounds to watch the first Quidditch game of the year. Parents and Hogsmeade residents had, apparently, always been allowed into the grounds to watch the games except, for security reasons, during his third and sixth years.

As he stood next to the wall by the gate, Harry pulled the Marauders Map from his pocket, and his heart began beating rapidly. His excitement wasn’t because he was on his first real mission as a trainee Auror, but because Ginny’s last letter came out with the map.

He should open the map, prepare himself, he knew that. Instead, he opened the letter and re-read the last few lines.

> _You must come to the changing rooms before the match. Don’t be late!_
> 
> _Forever yours_
> 
> _**Ginny** x_

Harry sighed. What was happening between them, he wondered? When they had been together over the summer things had been wonderful. But these days, they weren’t together. He was in London and she was in Hogwarts.

He wondered how serious Ginny was about their relationship. She had told him, often, that she was serious. But she didn’t always act like she was. Several of his fellow Aurors were constantly reminding him that she was just seventeen. According to them, and to several of the older women who had asked him out, she was simply a young schoolgirl with a crush. She was certainly young enough to be frightened of commitment, he’d been told, especially to “the Chosen One”, or “the Boy Who Lived.”

Aurors Strang and Lister in particular, never let up. Both men were older than Harry, they were about the same age as Charlie Weasley. Both were married, and both constantly ribbed him (and Ron and Neville) about the fact that they were going out with schoolgirls. They also advised the young men not to get married, to play the field.

Harry had lost count of the number of times that Dominic Strang had leeringly told him that he could have any witch he wanted. What worried Harry most of all, was that he was beginning to think that this might possibly be true. Lots of girls approached him, and flirted with him; it was something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to. He’d even been propositioned by some of the Ministry staff. Harry didn’t want any other girl; he wanted Ginny. But did she want him?

He had ended the letter he’d written just before the first Hogsmeade visit “all my love,” but when they met Ginny had made a joke and changed the subject. She obviously hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Then, at the party in the Hog’s Head, she had been determined to make certain that Neville stayed. After revealing the tight vest she was wearing, she had wandered around the room arm-in-arm with Neville. Harry had been more than a little worried about the way she had resolutely clung to his friend and fellow trainee Auror.

When he’d got back to the party, after taking Ginny back to school, he had questioned Neville. He’d had to prise his friend away from a surprisingly annoyed Hannah Abbot to do it. According to Neville, Ginny had been acting oddly at the party. She had asked Neville lots of questions about Romilda, but she had not been listening to his answers. When Harry had flown Ginny back to the school gates, she had—Harry’s heart lurched when he remembered—suggested that it would be a good thing if Neville and Romilda broke up.

He consoled himself by remembering their conversation at the school gates. He’d asked Ginny about her behaviour. She had admitted that she was jealous. Jealous of Cho, of all people! He’d wondered if Ginny’s behaviour towards Neville had been due to that. But, even before Cho had approached Harry with her news, Ginny had been very keen to make sure that Neville stayed.

At the gates they had talked a little, kissed a lot, and he thought that they had made up. Ginny had assured him that everything was all right between them. She’d kissed him goodbye mere feet from where he now stood. At the other side of this very gate. The memories of that farewell kiss still sent shivers down his spine, even now, five weeks later. The passion of it had resulted in several very wild dreams, the content of which he could not discuss with anyone, and certainly not Ron.

Yet, despite that goodbye kiss, Harry had dwelt on the party in the Hog’s Head for days. The biggest problem was there was no one he could turn to for advice about girls. For obvious reasons he couldn’t ask any of the Weasleys, Neville was hopeless, and he didn’t trust his workmates. His only alternative, the person he knew he could always turn to for good advice, was Hermione. But she was at Hogwarts and sharing a dorm with Ginny. The worry that Hermione might share his confidences was one problem, but the biggest problem was that if he wrote to Hermione, Ginny would know.

Ginny certainly had something on her mind when they parted. It was as if she’d been waiting for something, as if there was something unsaid between them. It showed in their correspondence, too. Their subsequent letters had been polite, chatty and full of news, but somehow also slightly stilted and formal. He had gone back to ending them “yours, Harry,” as “all my love” had not been well received.

Harry had brought up the subject of Ginny with Neville so often during training that Neville had thought it necessary to reassure him. According to Neville, Ginny was simply his friend. “Just like you and Hermione,” Neville had assured him.

Neville was one of the most honest and trustworthy people Harry knew, and he certainly seemed to be besotted by Romilda. But, in his darkest moments, Harry admitted to himself that Neville was the one bloke he was worried about. Neville was clever, resourceful and brave. He had almost been the chosen one, and Neville had asked Ginny out, too; he had taken her to the Yule Ball. He must have fancied her way back then, at a time when Harry had somehow been so blind that he barely even noticed Ron’s wonderful little sister.

Harry’s dark and depressing musings were, fortunately, interrupted. Sadly, the distraction was Argus Filch, who was stomping down towards the gate. Harry hastily prepared for his mission. Putting Ginny’s letter carefully back in his pocket, he opened the Marauders Map, and searched for the gate. He was ready just in time.

Filch opened the gate, and the spectators began to enter the school in twos and threes. Harry watched as their names appeared on the map. The first person through was a determined looking middle aged woman who the map told him was called Branwen Lloyd. Harry recognised the name from Quidditch Weekly; she was the assistant trainer and head scout for Holyhead Harpies.

Name after name passed by him. This was a foolish mission. Williamson was probably correct; the chances of a felon turning up to see his children play Quidditch were somewhere between slim and none. Then, to Harry’s surprise, Ariadne Wylde arrived. The wanted man’s wife was a pale, curly haired, wide-hipped woman. He hadn’t expected to see her, and the aura of sadness she carried spread to infect him. He gloomily watched her walk up the path.

* * *

Harry had been field training with Auror Philippa Fortescue for the past week, and they had interviewed Mrs Wylde yesterday. Ariadne Wylde had begun the interview by claiming to be half-blood, and had nervously provided documentation to prove it. Despite reassurances from both Philippa and Harry, she refused to believe that blood status was no longer of any importance to the Ministry. She was an extremely nervous woman, and appeared to be terrified of everyone in authority.

Before the interview had started, Philippa had told him, “Robards will tell you that there are only two interrogation techniques: the carrot, and the stick. He’s wrong, because they both assume that you’re in charge, and the person you’re interrogating is a donkey.” On one occasion he had impatiently tried to interrupt the plump, jovial, round-faced witch, but Philippa had silenced him with a glance. After that, Harry had said very little. He’d become fascinated by Philippa’s interrogation technique, because it wasn’t interrogation. It was gossip over tea and biscuits, not a formal cross-examination. As he listened, Harry thought back to some of the conversations he’d had with Albus Dumbledore and recognised the similarities.

She was an unlikely-looking Auror, but he soon realised that her method got results. By the end of the interview, though Mrs Wylde had admitted nothing, Philippa hadn’t pressed her, and the majority of the conversation had been about gardening, both he and Philippa were certain that Ariadne Wylde was indeed Muggle-born and that her pureblood husband had somehow acquired forged documents to protect her.

Harry found a great many things about the Wylde case disturbing. Wilberforce Wylde had worked at St. Mungo’s. He’d been a well-respected Healer until he became the Muggle-born Registration Commission’s representative at the hospital. Despite the fact that he was married to a Muggle-born, he had been instrumental in removing Muggle-born healers from St. Mungo’s as part of the “unfit to practise” legislation drafted by Umbridge. The hospital had lost a third of its staff as a result.

Six months had passed since the battle, but many of the former Healers, and many other Muggle-borns, remained missing. Some were, in all probability, dead; others, it seemed, had simply turned their back on the magical world which had treated them so badly.

Harry was anxious to find a link between the Death Eaters and the Muggle-born Registration Commission. He was desperate to bring as many charges as possible against Dolores Umbridge. As a consequence, he, Ron, and the other trainee Aurors were pursuing Umbridge with a vengeance.

The Death Eaters captured after the battle had stolen and murdered with impunity. They had behaved as if they were untouchable and, for some months, they had been. Fortunately, their offences had been easy to prove. They had assumed that Tom Riddle had already won, and so they didn’t bother to hide their crimes.

Umbridge, however, was proving more difficult to prosecute. She had written a discriminatory law, had it ratified by the Wizengamot, and then applied it. Until the Wizengamot decided which, if any, of the laws passed while Thicknesse was supposedly in control were lawful, all the Auror Office had against Dolores Umbridge were a few, probably unprovable, cases of theft and some accusations of misuse of power within the Ministry. Her prosecution depended upon the Wizengamot deciding that the law she had so vigorously applied had not, in fact, been legally sanctioned.

It should have been easy, as almost half of the Wizengamot had gone into hiding when Thicknesse was installed as Minister and many of the rest had family members held hostage by Death Eaters to ensure their compliance. Twice already the Wizengamot had decided that the Thicknesse regime was unlawful and that none of the discriminatory laws passed had been properly approved. However, they were being scrupulous in their deliberations. A third and final appeal had been submitted, and it would be heard in the New Year. Harry was finding the legal process interminable, but Kingsley was determined that he would not, under any circumstances, rule by decree. He was busily removing many of the draconian powers which his office, the Minister for Magic, had accrued over the years since Voldemort’s first rise to power. That, too, was proving to be slow work.

Only four known Death Eaters remained free, and Wilberforce Wylde and Rabastan Lestrange were the only two who were still on the run. It was essential that they were captured. The other two Death Eaters were not in Azkaban, but their whereabouts were well known. Lucius and Draco Malfoy were in protective custody and were collaborating fully with the Auror Office.

In order to avoid incarceration, the two male Malfoys had named names, and provided details of every Death Eater hideout they knew. Their co-operation in the early days after the Battle had resulted in the rapid round up of most Death Eaters, dozens of Snatchers, and many other supporters of the man Harry insisted be called Tom Riddle. Within the first two months after the Battle the “Wanted” list was reduced to less than two dozen names.

The Malfoys remained free, but wandless. Lucius’ wand had been destroyed by Riddle, Narcissa’s had been lost by Draco, and Harry still retained Draco’s own wand.

Lucius and Draco were under house arrest, restricted to the grounds of their home. As an escaped prisoner, Lucius had originally been sent back to Azkaban to serve the remainder of his sentence. He had lasted a week in the prison before a carefully orchestrated diversionary riot had allowed half a dozen incarcerated Death Eaters to attack him. Lucius had been badly beaten, barely escaping with his life. Despite the Healers’ efforts, it seemed that he would forevermore be walking with a cane. Lucius had been removed from the prison for his own safety. Nevertheless, he was not allowed to leave Malfoy Manor. Narcissa was running the family businesses with some assistance from her reclusive son.

The Wylde family puzzled Harry. By all accounts, Wylde had been a decent family man and a doting father, but he had suddenly become a Death Eater four months before the battle. Dozens of witnesses had confirmed that Wylde bore the Dark Mark and that he had joined Riddle at Hogwarts for the final battle. But, surprisingly, there was no evidence that he had actually fought. Dozens of witnesses placed him in the Forbidden Forest, but, despite rigorous investigation, no one on either side had seen him take any part in the combat.

Wylde was one of many who had gone on the run after the battle. Unlike the others, no-one, not even his wife, knew why. When the Battle had ended he could have “done a Malfoy,” an expression which was becoming popular among the wizarding community (it meant switching sides, betraying former friends, and courting favour with those in power). Wylde had not. He must have something to hide, but what?

One particularly nasty rumour that was proving impossible to suppress was that Wylde was Voldemort’s personal physician, and that he had spirited away the body in order to once again bring Voldemort back to life. Despite the fact that almost every member of the Wizengamot had seen Riddle’s body and most of them had made public statements to that effect, the panic-inducing “He’s Back!” rumours occasionally rippled through the Wizarding community. Capturing Wylde would lay to rest one more rumour. One that Harry, the Auror Office, and the Minister, definitely wanted to stop in its tracks.

* * *

Harry brought himself back to the present, and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. There were now only ten minutes until the start of the match, and Wylde still hadn’t arrived. If the man didn’t come soon Harry would miss the start of the game; he would miss Ginny.

Five minutes!

Four!

The name Wilberforce Wylde suddenly appeared on the Marauder’s Map. Harry stared at the man who had walked through the gate. He was grey-haired and had a long and bushy beard. He looked nothing like the tall dark-haired and clean shaven man on the wanted posters, but a wanted Death Eater would not appear in public without using Polyjuice potion. Harry let him get fifty yards inside the gate. Then, as planned, he ran to his intercept position and silently fired a colour-changing spell onto his target’s pointed hat. Wilde didn’t notice.

Harry threw off his cloak and aimed his wand at the wizard, trusting that everyone else was still in position. They were, Williamson appeared directly in front of their quarry.

‘Auror Office!’ Williamson identified himself. ‘You are Wilberforce Wylde, wanted for questioning.’

As the Senior Auror appeared and shouted the warning, Ron, Neville and the other Aurors also revealed themselves, surrounding the startled man. Wylde tried to Disapparate.

‘You can’t Disapparate within Hogwarts grounds, Wylde,’ called Philippa. ‘Put your wand on the ground and come quietly.’ The fugitive staggered and fell to his knees, weeping.

‘I surrender! I’ll tell you everything,’ the man sobbed, holding up his hands. ‘On one condition.’

‘No conditions. Surrender, or else,’ Williamson told him.

‘What do you want?’ asked Harry. Williamson glared at him.

‘To see my children play Quidditch.’

‘Nothing else?’ Williamson asked.

Wylde shook his head sadly and held out his empty hands, accepting his capture. ‘Just let me see the game, please. I’ll come quietly. I’ll tell you everything.’

Harry looked expectantly at Williamson. He knew that the Senior Auror was a big fan. There was no doubt that Williamson, too, would like to see the game.

‘Okay,’ Williamson agreed. ‘But, you’ll be wandless and handcuffed.’ Wylde nodded. Auror Fortescue pulled out a set of handcuffs and moved forwards towards the compliant prisoner. 

‘I’ve got to go,’ Harry called, the moment Wylde was handcuffed.

Ignoring Williamson’s angry shouts, Harry sprinted towards the Gryffindor changing rooms.

‘Slytherin.’ Harry heard the voice of an unknown announcer call as he reached the Gryffindor changing room door; ‘Pinder, Pepperell, Zoë Wylde, Hockaday, Shuttleworth, Chatterton and Captain Aaron Wylde.’

He burst, breathless into the changing room to see Ginny, white-faced and nervous, marshalling her team at the pitch-side exit.

A ragged cheer broke out from the stadium.

‘Sorry,’ he gasped.

She ignored his apology.

‘I need a warm-up,’ she announced, running towards him. She jumped on him, throwing her arms over his shoulders and around his neck.

‘Gryffindor:’ the announcer began. The team remained in their dressing room. They watched in silence as their captain, her arms and legs wrapped around her boyfriend, snogged him passionately.

‘Wait!’ Harry heard Demelza Robins order. He breathlessly concentrated on the kiss.

‘Gryffindor:’ the announcer said a second time after the team failed to appear. A nervous silence fell over the stadium.

‘Ginny,’ called Demelza urgently. ‘We need to go now, or we’ll forfeit the match.’ Ginny unwrapped herself from Harry.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘We’ll win, now.’ She lightly smacked Harry’s backside, wagged a finger at him, and said, ‘Next time, don’t cut it so fine.’

Turning, Ginny motioned her Seeker to the door.

‘Gryffindor:’ the announcer called for a third time. The relief in his voice was noticeable when the young seeker flew onto the pitch. ‘James Devine, Robins, Alizon Devine, Captain Weasley, Peakes, Coote and Sloper.’

Harry was suddenly alone in the changing room, and he was bent double. His hands were on his knees as he desperately sucked in air. He’d been out of breath when he arrived and prolonging the kiss from Ginny had taken every last gasp of air from his lungs. He hadn’t even spoken to her.

‘Slytherin score!’ the announcer shouted.

Hoping that Hermione had saved him a seat, Harry rushed out from the empty changing room and dashed up into the stands.


	7. Quidditch: Slytherin Solution

**7\. Quidditch: Slytherin Solution**

Gryffindor had already evened the score to ten points each by the time Harry reached his seat. He waved to a wildly gesticulating Hagrid—who was sitting at the back of the stand—gave Hermione a brief hello, and settled down to watch the game. Ron, who was sitting on the other side of Hermione, was already so engrossed in the match that he didn’t even acknowledge Harry’s arrival.

‘Ron’s told me what you’ve been doing,’ began Hermione excitedly. ‘He said that you caught him.’ She obviously wanted to start a conversation, but while Harry hadn’t seen Hermione since the Hogsmeade visit, now wasn’t the time to talk, Ginny was captaining her first game, and it was against Slytherin.

‘Yes,’ said Harry abruptly. Although they had a lot to talk about, they could talk later—after the match. He pointedly ignored her and turned to look out over the pitch. Hermione sighed, and she, too, turned toward the game.

The Slytherin team were unlike any Harry had encountered while he’d been at school. All three Chasers and the Seeker were girls. Only the Beaters, a couple of burly thugs, looked like they belonged in one of the old Slytherin teams. The Keeper and captain, Aaron Wylde, was busy shouting instructions to his team, oblivious to the fact that his father had just been arrested by the Auror Office.

Harry settled back in his seat and watched the game in fascination. Sloper was hopeless, the worst Keeper he’d ever seen. Much worse than Ron on a bad day, worse even than Percy. It was obvious that Ginny was well aware of her Keeper’s shortcomings. Jimmy Peakes was playing defensively, staying close to the Gryffindor goal to provide additional cover for Sloper. On two occasions, when Slytherin looked certain to score, Peakes hammered a Bludger at the attacking Chaser, causing them to miss. To Harry’s annoyance, on both occasions Sloper took the credit for the miss.

As Harry expected, Ginny and Demelza were working well together. The new Chaser and her twin, the new Seeker, were both nervous and inexperienced; nevertheless, the score soon reached 50-20 to Gryffindor. His team, _Ginny’s team,_ he corrected himself, were out-flying Slytherin, and their lead was slowly increasing. The game would, however, almost certainly be won by one of the Seekers. Harry pulled out his Omnioculars to get a better look at them.

High above the other players the two Seekers watched and waited. The Slytherin Seeker, Pinder, was a thin-faced and lean fourth year girl. She was circling the nervous looking James Devine and talking constantly. ‘Don’t listen to her,’ Harry muttered, imagining the stream of off-putting insults coming from Pinder.

‘Penalty to Slytherin,’ the announcer boomed.

‘What happened? I was watching the Seekers,’ said Harry. He looked past Hermione to Ron, who was booing loudly, for an explanation.

‘Ginny cobbed their biggest Chaser,’ said Ron angrily. ‘But only because she was going to cob _her_.’

Harry trained his Omnioculars on the Slytherins as they prepared to take the penalty. Their oldest chaser, Hockaday, looked to be about Ginny’s age, but she was a lot bigger than his girlfriend. She had a bloody nose, and was being consoled by her team mates. Then Harry noticed the other chaser, Pepperell, give Hockaday the thumbs up. He recognised Pepperell from somewhere. Racking his brain, he remembered; she was a Prefect, he’d seen her in the Prefects’ carriage at King’s Cross when they were saying goodbye to Hermione. As he watched the Slytherin team closely and realised that Hockaday wasn’t being consoled; she was being congratulated. But why?

Zoë Wylde took the Slytherin penalty and easily scored past Sloper.

‘Slytherin 30, Gryffindor 50.’

Ron swore. ‘Sloper’s complete bloody rubbish! Why did Ginny pick him?’

‘He was the only one who applied for the position,’ Harry said bitterly. ‘Ginny wrote and told me. She reckons that he’s marginally better than leaving the hoops undefended. She also said that she’d thought about putting him in a Full Body Bind once the game started. She reckons that he’d be better if he couldn’t move. At least then there’d be a chance that some of the Quaffles would bounce off him.’

Ron laughed sarcastically. ‘Good idea. After the way Winona Hopgood played last weekend, I reckon the Cannons should try that, too.’

Harry watched the Slytherin team carefully, trying to work out their tactics. Their Beaters were targeting young Alizon Devine and trying to make her nervous; it was working. Ginny’s tactic of keeping Peakes back to help Sloper meant that Ritchie Coote was struggling to defend his new young team mate from two Slytherin Beaters.

Alizon swerved wildly to avoid a Bludger and dropped the Quaffle. Hockaday caught it and zoomed towards the Gryffindor goal. Ginny and Demelza covered her, waiting for a pass. Ginny was alongside Slytherin’s penalty taker, Zoë Wylde. Zoë moved in closer, accelerated past Ginny, slowed and raised her elbow; she was trying to cob Ginny. _No chance,_ Harry thought, Ginny zigzagged and elbowed Zoë instead. The whistle went again.

‘Another foul by Weasley, another penalty to Slytherin,’ called the announcer.

Harry let loose a string of invective, to which Hermione loudly objected.

‘I hope Ginny saw that,’ he said after he’d finished swearing.

‘Of course she did,’ Ron said, ‘she only cobbed her in retaliation.’

Harry shook his head, ‘No, Ron, that’s what the Slytherins want her to think. They’re pretending to play dirty, getting Ginny angry, and letting _her_ commit the fouls.’

‘What?’ Hermione asked, puzzled.

Ron looked at his girlfriend, then at Harry. His jaw dropped as he, too, recognised the Slytherin team’s plan.

‘They haven’t actually committed one foul yet, they’ve just looked like they were going to,’ Ron explained to Hermione.

‘Slytherin 40, Gryffindor 50. Zoë Wylde scores again for Slytherin.’

‘It’s brilliant tactics, Hermione. Slytherin have finally given the Captaincy to someone with brains, and a lot of cunning,’ Harry said in admiration. His friends looked at him in horror.

‘It is!’ he protested. ‘Everyone expects them to play dirty, especially Ginny after last year, but they’re not. The Wylde girl dropped her elbow when Ginny got close, she’d have let her fly past, but it riled Ginny enough to retaliate.’

‘They’re having a lot of problems getting past “Mighty” Peakes’ Bludgers to score, but they’ll always be able to score past Sloper from a penalty,’ Ron added, nodding his agreement. The new nickname he’d just given Jimmy Peakes which whispered its way away from him into the surrounding students.

‘I just hope that Ginny figures it out,’ said Harry worriedly. ‘So far she’s the only one who’s committed any fouls.’

He returned his gaze to the game where Ginny was talking to Alizon and Demelza. When the Quaffle was released, Ginny intercepted it and hurtled towards the Slytherin goal. Both Bludgers were hit towards her. She passed the Quaffle to Demelza and the Slytherin Keeper moved to cover. Demelza dropped the Quaffle and it fell into the hands of Alizon, who zoomed in and scored.

‘Slytherin 40, Gryffindor 60. Alizon Devine scores her first goal for Gryffindor,’ proclaimed the announcer

Harry cheered while watching in fascination. The goal was a set piece, there was no doubt. It had been a risk, but it had paid off, Alizon’s first goal had banished her nerves and, high above, her jubilant twin had rounded on the Slytherin Seeker. _If she’d missed_ Harry thought _that could have been the end for Gryffindor._

When the game restarted, Slytherin tried their “fake foul” tactic again. It didn’t work. Harry punched the air when Ginny ignored the upraised elbow and passed the Quaffle to Alizon, who rolled under a Bludger and passed to Demelza whose shot was saved by the outstretched fingertips of the Slytherin Captain. Harry joined in the groans at the save, but Ginny’s team were flying well – they were on form and they were at last playing as a team.

Suddenly, Pinder dived. Certain that she’d seen the Snitch, James Devine followed her. Harry squinted, and realised that it was a feint. It was a good strategy and the Slytherin Seeker almost managed to lure James Devine into the path of a Bludger. When she returned to her watching position, it took him some time to rejoin her. Pinder grinned when he finally returned to his vantage point above the main area of play.

The score slowly crept upwards. Once she had identified the Slytherin tactics, Ginny had regained her fighting spirit. She was now completely into her game and was playing brilliantly, inspiring her fellow Chasers, and motivating her team. As Gryffindor scored goal after goal, Harry hoped that the scouts were paying attention.

‘Slytherin 80, Gryffindor 210,’ said the announcer. ‘Weasley scores her tenth goal of the game.’

_Two more goals,_ Harry thought. Then he saw the Snitch. So did James Devine. The young Seeker dived straight for it. Harry groaned. The Slytherin Seeker was bigger, older, and more experienced. She followed James into the dive, watching the Snitch carefully. Then everything happened at once.

The burliest of the Slytherin Beaters hammered a Bludger towards James Devine. Ritchie Coote dived to try to intercept it, but he was much too far away. Ginny was closer, and her Stormcloud was much faster than Ritchie’s Cleansweep. She did the only thing she could. She desperately dived between the Bludger and her seeker, taking the full impact from the heavy iron ball on her side.

Harry leapt to his feet as the Bludger bounced off his girlfriend’s ribs and he gasped with the rest of the crowd. Ginny had successfully protected her Seeker but was desperately trying to regain control of her broom while tumbling and rolling towards the ground. She landed heavily, falling from the broom. Gasping for breath she struggled to remount. By the time she had, the game was over.

The Snitch had suddenly changed direction and the more experienced Pinder was ready. The slim Slytherin Seeker turned quickly and sped past James with her hand outstretched. But unfortunately for her, Jimmy Peakes had abandoned his defensive position.

In order to help defend the Gryffindor goal, Peakes had been trying to keep control of the second Bludger. He now hit it as hard as he could. It cannoned towards Pinder. She swerved smoothly out of its way. Unfortunately for her, she moved directly into the path of the other Bludger; the one Ginny had taken in the ribs.

Ritchie Coote had continued to follow his captain into her dive and had managed to reach the Bludger moments after it had bounced off Ginny. He had also correctly judged the way Pinder would move to avoid his fellow Beater’s Bludger. Her right arm was still outstretched, her hand mere inches from the Snitch. Harry heard the crack as Coote’s Bludger hit Pinder’s left arm, breaking it.

Harry watched in admiration. The lean Slytherin girl faced “the Seeker’s choice”, fall from her broom while trying to catch the Snitch, or forget the Snitch and grab her broom with her remaining good arm. She did what Harry would have done, what any good Seeker would do.

Her flailing fingers failed to snatch the Snitch by little more than the thickness of her gloves and she tumbled helplessly from her broom. James Devine took the opening and, to Gryffindor cheers, he caught and held up the Snitch. Ritchie Coote, who had been following his Bludger, dived and caught the Slytherin Seeker around the waist as she plummeted towards the pitch.

‘Gryffindor win: 360 points to 80 points.’ The stadium erupted. Rather than booing their opponents, the majority of the Slytherin supporters were cheering their team for their valiant effort. Harry was filled with hope.

‘Poor Ginny,’ Hermione squealed.

‘Poor Ginny?’ said Ron, astonished. ‘We’ve won, she was brilliant.’

‘She’s hurt,’ Hermione scolded.

‘She’s fine,’ Harry assured her as he watched his girlfriend leaping for joy. Ginny’s ecstatic team had landed alongside her. In the heat of the spectacular victory, she hugged and kissed twelve-year-old James, then her two Beaters and her fellow Chasers. _They deserved it, they had played brilliantly_ Harry thought, wondering why he didn’t feel even slightly jealous. Jack Sloper, the only boy in Ginny’s year, also moved forwards hopefully. Ginny ignored him and limped over towards the Slytherin Captain, her hand outstretched. Aaron Wylde shook it and they smiled at each other.

‘Merlin, I love that girl,’ Harry announced.

‘Good!’ asserted Ron forcefully. At which point Harry realised that he’d actually spoken the words aloud.

‘Perhaps you should go down and tell her instead of telling us,’ suggested Hermione smugly. Harry blushed then grinned at his friends.

‘I will,’ he said determinedly. Hermione beamed at him.

Harry looked around the stands; everyone except three Aurors and their prisoner was on their feet and streaming onto the pitch. The Polyjuice Potion had worn off, showing that the man flanked by Williamson and Lister was definitely Wilberforce Wylde.

‘Potter,’ Williamson called. ‘Never leave an incident until you’re dismissed.’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘You will be, Potter,’ Williamson continued. ‘Lister and I will take Wylde to the office now. We’ll need to ask Wylde’s wife a lot more questions, too. Find her and bring her in to the office for questioning, but do _not_ tell her _or her children_ that we have their father. Philippa, you’re in charge of the trainees. Potter, you’re on duty, remember! This is not an opportunity for you to socialise with your girlfriend, so you’re not going to, do you understand?’

Harry nodded, his heart sinking. This was only the start of Williamson’s punishment for his running from the arrest scene.

‘Weasley,’ Williamson added. ‘Go and find Longbottom; he’s vanished too. He should be here, have you any idea where he’s gone?’

‘No,’ Ron lied to their boss.

‘You should both have stayed here with us, not gone off to sit with some schoolgirl. Now go and get Longbottom.’

‘Some schoolgirl!’ Ron protested.

‘It’s okay, Ron,’ said Hermione quietly.

‘Okay! I’ll go and find Neville, sir,’ said Ron, scowling. Pulling an apologetic face at Hermione, he scurried away.

Harry and Philippa followed the crowds onto the pitch. The Gryffindor team were in the centre of a huge scrum of people. He saw Luna’s lion hat in the throng and smiled. The Slytherin team were being consoled by a smaller crowd.

Although he was desperate to see Ginny, he knew that it would take ages to fight through that crowd. Besides, he was in enough trouble with Williamson, and he had a job to do. He led Philippa over to the Slytherin team. As they approached, the chatter ceased and the small crowd parted. He walked up to the team. Madam Hooch was ordering Jeanette Pinder to the Hospital wing. The Seeker was pale and shaking. Aaron Wylde was consoling his weeping sister. As Harry expected, their mother stood next to them, too.

‘Good game,’ Harry said, holding out his hand to the astonished Slytherin Captain. ‘Clever tactics, too. You’ve put together the best Slytherin team I’ve ever seen. It was a closer game than the final score shows.’

‘Thanks,’ Wylde grunted, shaking Harry’s hand.

‘Hi, Harry,’ Ritchie Coote appeared alongside him.

‘Hello, Ritchie,’ Harry smiled ‘Well played! That last Bludger hit of yours won the game.’

‘Yes … sorry about that,’ said Ritchie. Harry was startled until he realised that the apology was directed at the Slytherin Seeker.

‘Let’s get you to the hospital wing,’ Ritchie continued. He pulled Jeanette Pinder’s good arm over his shoulder, grabbed her around the waist and helped her from the pitch.

Aaron Wylde watched their departure in amazement.

‘Mrs Wylde,’ began Philippa. ‘We are here in an official capacity. I must ask you to accompany me to the Auror Office for further questioning.’

The little colour that remained fell from Mrs Wylde’s face and she staggered. Harry moved forwards to catch her, but was pushed violently out of the way by her son.

‘I’ll look after her, Potter,’ he snarled viciously.

Philippa stepped forwards, and with a flick of her eyes ordered Harry to step back. He did.

‘You can walk to the Hogsmeade gate with us, Mr Wylde, and you too, Miss Wylde, but we do need to ask your mother some more questions,’ Philippa said.

Harry looked over at the Gryffindor team. The crowds were thinning as they prepared to go indoors. They would soon be heading for the Gryffindor common room to celebrate their victory.

Now, he’d go and tell Ginny no matter what Williamson said! He caught Philippa’s eyes and looked at her hopefully. She smiled and nodded.

‘Be quick, and hope that Williamson doesn’t see you,’ she ordered. Harry left Philippa with the Wyldes and dashed nervously over to Ginny. She had her back to him, and had lifted up her shirt.

‘Ginny,’ he called.

She turned. He saw the huge purple circle of the Bludger bruise. She was brilliant, brave, and badly hurt. He had to tell her.

‘Ginny, I…’ he began. He saw the hurt and anger in her eyes.

‘Here at last,’ she interrupted. ‘Had to see the Slytherins first, did you?’

‘Auror Office business,’ he explained. He lowered his head so that Ginny wouldn’t see the sorrow in his eyes.

‘Harry,’ she began very quietly, and then Alizon Devine screamed. Harry looked up, Ginny had collapsed. Blood dribbled from her mouth. Harry dashed to her side and pulled up her shirt. He looked at the bruise.

‘Broken ribs, internal bleeding,’ he diagnosed. She _was_ hurt. He should have realised. The Bludger hit had been hard, but she’d been straight back up on her feet. He’d assumed that she was all right, and so had Ron. But she must have been invigorated by the win.

As Harry was not starting his “Combat, Curse and General Injuries” course until next week. He couldn’t help her himself. He did the only thing he could; he lifted her into his arms, grabbed her broom and flew over the crowds, into the school, and to Hospital Wing.

‘I love you, Ginny Weasley,’ he told her unconscious form as he soared through the Hogwarts corridors. Years of experience had taught him the fastest route to the hospital wing.

* * *

‘She’ll be fine, Mr Potter,’ Madam Pomfrey assured Harry after he had delivered his unconscious girlfriend into her care. Ginny’s other team-mates dashed into the ward while Ritchie left the bedside of Jeanette Pinder, whose arm was already in a sling, to rejoin his team-mates. Harry looked at the worried faces of the Gryffindor team.

‘She’s in good hands. She’ll be okay in a day or two, don’t worry,’ Harry reassured them. ‘Well done, all of you. You played brilliantly. Good tactics, good play, and you didn’t fall into the Slytherins’ trap. You’re a great team.’ They beamed at him.

‘Quidditch,’ the school nurse grumbled. ‘First game of the year and I’ve already got two girls with broken bones.’

‘How is she? ‘Hermione cried, dashing into the ward.

‘She will be fine, Miss Granger,’ Madam Pomfrey said. ‘What she needs is rest, and I need to have a few minutes of privacy in order to treat her. So – get out, all of you.’ The nurse looked sadly at Harry. ‘You _certainly_ can’t stay, Mr Potter. You’re not a student, you’re not a teacher, and you’re not a relative. You should not even be inside the school buildings. I must insist that you leave my Ward.’ The school nurse began to shoo Harry away from his girlfriend’s bedside.

Harry began to argue, but Ron’s patronus arrived. ‘Where are you, mate? Philippa’s ready to leave and Williamson will do his nut if you’re not with us when we get back.’

‘Just go, Harry,’ Hermione ordered, grabbing his arm and attempting to pull him out of the ward. ‘You’re in enough trouble with Williamson already. There’s nothing you can do here, we’ll be here for her when she wakes up.’

‘Look after her please, and tell her I’m sorry.’ Harry struggled free of Hermione and kissed his unconscious girlfriend gently on the lips. He sighed, and then allowed Hermione to escort him from the ward.

‘I’ve got to go, Auror Office business,’ Harry told Ginny’s team, who were all anxiously waiting outside. As he spoke, he wondered how many times he’d be telling Ginny that in the future.

Harry sprinted through the school and across the fields to the Hogsmeade gate. Ron and an embarrassed looking Neville were waiting for him.

‘How’s Ginny?’ Ron asked.

‘Broken ribs,’ Harry panted, ‘she’ll be okay.’

‘Did you talk to her?’

‘Sort of,’ said Harry morosely.

‘So much for getting paid to watch the match and seeing the girls for a couple of hours,’ frowned Ron. ‘I never really thought that the git would show up. Now we’ve got all that paperwork to do, too. Today’s been a washout, hasn’t it? Except for Nev, of course, Romilda’s been giving him some exercise.’

Neville blushed scarlet. ‘We’d best get back to Williamson,’ he muttered, and strode off.

‘Let’s get out of here, eh, mate?’ Ron suggested. Harry nodded.


	8. Hogsmeade: Cancellation

**8\. Hogsmeade: Cancellation**

Ginny was lying in bed feeling sorry for herself and re-reading Harry’s last letter. She didn’t need to; she knew it by heart, remembered every word. But she needed to read it, to reread the entire letter, simply to reach the final words.

When she came to the valediction, she smiled sadly.

> _All my love,_
> 
> _**Harry** x_

Almost two months ago Harry had used those words in a letter for the first time: the letter she’d received on the morning of that less than successful Hogsmeade visit, the day of the DA party. Afterwards, for five weeks, Harry had returned to using:

> _Yours,_
> 
> _**Harry** x_

That change had hurt her more than she’d expected. She’d tried changing the way she closed her letters to him.

She’d used, _yours always, yours forever, your girl, only yours …_ She’d even made a list to make sure that she didn’t repeat herself. How pathetic was that? Nothing had worked; he remained stubbornly “yours.”

Since the Quidditch match against Slytherin, however, for the past two glorious weeks, it had been again “all my love.” It had begun with the “Get Well” card he’d sent. She picked it up and re-read the hastily scribbled card.

> _Ginny,_
> 
> _I’m sorry that I didn’t see more of you before the match. I couldn’t stay afterwards, either. I was on a mission for the Office. I’ll write and explain properly tomorrow. (I’m writing this at work, when I’m supposed to be writing my mission report.)_
> 
> _You played brilliantly and inspired your team. You’re a better Captain than I was. I wish that I could have congratulated you properly._
> 
> _I can’t wait to see you. Only two weeks to the next Hogsmeade visit, and this time it will be just you and me, I promise._

Ginny sighed sadly as she read on.

> _I was prepared to stay, despite orders, but Madam Pomfrey threw me out of the hospital anyway! After all those years of steady work I gave her, too!_
> 
> _This card is probably too late, I expect that you’re out of the hospital wing already, if my experiences are anything to go by._

(He’d been wrong about that; Madam Pomfrey had insisted that she remain in the hospital wing overnight, and all of the following day.)

> _Take care, keep training, and win that cup for Gryffindor._
> 
> _I miss you._
> 
> _All my love_
> 
> _**Harry** x_
> 
> _P.S. There were scouts from both the Harpies and the Tornadoes at the game.”_

From then onwards, in seven letters, all of which were currently lying on her bed but which would soon be returned to their box and locked in the bottom of her school trunk, it had been “all my love.”

She hadn’t seen him on the day of the match, not really. They’d had a quick snog in the dressing room before the match. A _warm-up_ , she’d told him. That was a private joke. A week after the battle, they’d had a three-a-side game at the Burrow. For the first time, she’d kissed him in front of all of her brothers, at least all but Bill. She’d told them she was warming up for the game, and for the remainder of the summer, their pre-match snog had become an essential start to all of their knockabout games at The Burrow.

In that first game, Ginny, Ron and Harry had trounced Charlie, George and Percy. That had been a turning point for her. Not only had her brothers had accepted Harry as her boyfriend, but Charlie had been on the losing team.

Charlie _never_ lost, and her performance had impressed her “could have been a professional” brother. He thought she was good, very good, and Harry had encouraged her, too. Suddenly, her crazy dream to play professional Quidditch didn’t seem crazy after all.

After the Slytherin match two weeks ago, she’d been annoyed with Harry because he’d gone to see the Slytherin team first. Then she’d collapsed and, she’d discovered later, he’d flown her to the hospital wing. He’d told her team that they were brilliant. She’d seen the look in the Devine twins’ eyes when Demelza had repeated that statement. _Harry Potter told them that they were brilliant!_ It showed in their practices. Everyone (except Jack, unfortunately) was improving. Their pre-match kiss was still a talking point among her team, too, Ginny knew. But Harry had said more to her team than he had said to her.

When she had recovered consciousness in the hospital wing, Hermione had been at her bedside. Her first question hadn’t been the concerned, “How are you, Ginny?” she’d been expecting; it had been an excited “Did he tell you?” Ginny had been confused; Hermione, embarrassed.

Ginny eventually managed to wrangle the whole story from her friend. She learned about the last-minute Auror operation and, much more importantly, about what Harry had said at the end of the game. Harry had been on active duty, Auror Potter at work. Ginny had been furious with herself again. She felt stupid, especially after his get well card. She’d written and told him so, although she hadn’t mentioned her conversation with Hermione. She’d finished _“all my love, **Ginny** x”_

In his reply he’d told her once again (in four pages of full, match-deconstructing detail) that she was a great Quidditch Captain with a good team – a team she was turning into a great team. He’d told her that the game had been the best Quidditch match he’d ever seen, that he was proud to be her boyfriend. He had admitted that he’d been formally reprimanded and had lost Auror course points because he’d run off after an arrest (to receive that kiss). Sometimes, she thought that she didn’t deserve Harry Potter. She’d written back and told him so.

He’d written back and confessed that sometimes he thought that he didn’t deserve Ginny Weasley. He’d told her astonishing things, many of which she hadn’t even shared with Hermione. He’d said that she was bright, beautiful and clever, and that he was constantly afraid that she’d find someone better than him. Things that he obviously hadn’t been able to say to her face were appearing in ink: his fears and worries, his hopes and dreams. She longed to hear him speak, to say the words he’d written.

Suddenly, since the Slytherin match, their letters had become open and frank. Her heart had lurched when, in his second letter, he’d admitted his worries about her feelings for Neville. She had tried to explain what her relationship with Neville was, what it had always been. They were friends, but nothing more. She was, she told her boyfriend, the “Neville” of her dormitory. Harry had written back, puzzled, and asked for an explanation. She still remembered the words she’d used.

_In your dorm, like mine, there were five occupants. Harry and Ron, inseparable, together through thick and thin; Seamus and Dean, always best mates; and Neville, everyone’s friend but no one’s best friend. In my dorm, it was Sarah and Amanda; Tabitha and Jacqueline; and I’m Neville._

She hoped that the explanation would help Harry understand the bond she felt with Nev. It was something, she now knew, they must talk about face to face. She needed to make him understand how silly it was, that it was as ridiculous as her being jealous of Hermione. 

All things considered, she had been looking forward to the next Hogsmeade visit, counting down the days, and she knew that he had, too. It was tomorrow. She sighed and looked at her watch. It was half past midnight; it wasn’t tomorrow, it was today.

Ginny still couldn’t sleep. She opened her curtains and picked up her gently glowing wand. Tiptoeing over to Hermione’s bed. she opened the curtains. Hermione, too, was awake. She was lying on her stomach, her chin cupped in her hands. Under the faint wand light, she was gazing at a photo of Ron; it was pulling silly faces at her.

‘Oh,’ Hermione blushed when she saw Ginny.

‘And I thought that I was desperate,’ whispered Ginny, smiling at her friend. ‘D’you want to talk?’

Hermione nodded, and then whispered, ‘Let’s go down to the common room so that we don’t disturb any of the others.’ Ginny smiled in agreement. Hermione hadn’t really made friends with any of the other girls in Ginny’s dormitory, the girls Ginny had shared a room with for seven years. But then, Ginny thought, Hermione hadn’t really made any friends in her own dorm, either. Hermione wasn’t very good at making friends.

‘Prefects’ bathroom,’ Ginny suggested.

‘That’s out of bounds,’ Hermione reminded her. ‘I’m Head Girl, remember!’ Hermione took her responsibilities so seriously that Ginny could hear the capital letters when she spoke. _The Head Girl must always set a good example_ , Ginny thought wryly.

‘You’re the girl who’s been out of bounds _with two blokes_ every year since you started at this school,’ Ginny observed in a whisper. ‘What’s turned you into Little Miss Proper this year?’

For a moment, Hermione looked angry. Then, instead of the Head-Girl-argument Ginny had expected, she saw Hermione’s silhouette slump into a despondent droop.

‘You really miss them both, don’t you?’ said Ginny sympathetically.

‘Even more than I expected,’ Hermione admitted. ‘This is the longest I’ve been separated from them since I was … thirteen, probably. But we can’t leave the dormitory, Ginny.’

‘You’d do it for Ron and Harry,’ murmured Ginny.

There was a moment’s silence. ‘But that was always important!’ Hermione protested.

‘So’s this,’ said Ginny.

‘Okay, Prefects’ bathroom, nowhere else,’ hissed Hermione. Ginny grinned triumphantly. For the first time this year, the real Hermione, the girl who would risk all for her friends, had somehow managed to overpower the serious Head Girl. Ginny walked to the door. Hermione swung her legs out of bed and opened her trunk. There was a muffled clunk, and Tabitha Tunnock, in the next bed, gave a loud, grunting snore. Hermione ignored the noise, tiptoed to the dormitory door, and crept down the dark stairs behind Ginny.

The two girls stopped in the Gryffindor common room, and Hermione turned up a lamp. They looked at each other and grinned mischievously. Hermione carried two old socks, each obviously containing a bottle. She wore bright pink pyjama trousers and a faded orange t-shirt with the faint remains of the letters CC on the front. Ginny immediately recognised the t-shirt as a very old one of Ron’s.

‘Orange and pink, a very attractive combination,’ Ginny observed.

Hermione blushed. ‘I packed the t-shirt for Ron last year. He told me that it was too small for him, but I... I never got around to throwing it out, and it fits me. It was a shame to waste it.’

‘Huh! Pathetic,’ Ginny said, mockingly shaking her head. ‘Totally pathetic. You’re like a schoolgirl with a crush.’ As she gently teased her friend, she made a mental note to try to ensure that the torn old t-shirt of Harry’s at the bottom of her trunk remained well hidden from Hermione.

‘I _am_ a schoolgirl with a crush,’ said Hermione archly, ‘and so are you, Ginny Weasley … and at least _I’m_ decently covered.’

‘It’s more than a crush, we both know that,’ said Ginny. Grinning, she looked down at her green Harpies vest. ‘It covers my boobs, just; and my bum, just.’ She shrugged her shoulders.

‘Not when you do that it doesn’t, Miss Red-Knickers,’ Hermione told her. Ginny laughed.

‘What’s in the socks, Hermione?

‘Booze, Muggle beer,’ announced Hermione proudly. ‘If we’re going to break rules, we might as well do it in style.’ She pulled a brown pint bottle from one of the socks. The label read IPA. Ginny grinned at her friend. This was going to be fun.

‘Ippah?’ she asked.

‘I.P.A.’ Hermione corrected, ‘India Pale Ale, Dad drinks it. It took me a while to get used to the taste, but it’s not bad, really. I bought a couple of bottles in for Ron to try. He wanted to know what Dad drinks. I was going to share it with him at the last Hogsmeade visit, but then Harry organised that party. I can buy more at Christmas, so I thought that we could drink them. Damn!’

Hermione had pulled out the second bottle only to discover that it wasn’t beer, it was a green wine bottle – Muscadet.

‘That’s the wine we had on holiday, on Harry’s eighteenth birthday,’ Ginny observed. ‘The one Ron liked.’

‘I bought three bottles to bring home. I was saving this one for a special occasion.’

‘Involving Ron, I expect.’ Ginny gave her friend a wickedly knowing smile, ‘Well, hard luck, Hermione, my need is greater; I “specially” need cheering up.’

‘We don’t have a corkscrew, Ginny.’

‘We have wands, Hermione.’

‘Are you going out dressed like that?’

‘I’m not going back upstairs for my dressing gown,’ Ginny told her friend, ‘but it doesn’t matter, I can wear a bathrobe on the way back, and we’ll be naked in the bathroom.’

‘We will?’ Hermione sounded surprised.

‘I will, Hermione, I’m going for a midnight swim. You can just sit and watch if you like.’ Ginny pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and stepped out into the corridor. They crept through dark corridors and reached the Prefects’ bathroom unnoticed. After locking the door, Ginny turned on the taps.

‘Open that beer, Hermione. We can stay in bed all day tomorrow, because there’s no point in going to Hogsmeade.’

Hermione used her wand to flick the top off the beer bottle; she took a swig from the bottle and passed it over to Ginny.

‘Hermione Granger, you have been hanging around with my ill-mannered brute of a brother for far too long,’ Ginny scolded, wagging her finger exaggeratedly.

‘Which “ill-mannered brute of a brother” are you talking about?’ Hermione teased.

‘How many of them have you snogged?’ asked Ginny wickedly.

‘Let me think.’ Hermione lowered her head, and began silently counting on her fingers, Ginny watched in amazement.

‘One,’ Hermione announced seriously after much careful deliberation.

‘So, he’s the one to blame,’ Ginny laughed, ‘for a moment there, I thought that you were going to admit to a secret crush on another brother, George, probably…’ Ginny stopped suddenly; Hermione had looked away and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

‘No!’ she howled. ‘Not seriously?’

Hermione shook her head, and stared into Ginny’s eyes. ‘Not George,’ she said dismissively, but she hesitated. ‘Don’t you dare say anything to anyone, especially Ron. But when I first started school, when I was eleven, for a few weeks I thought that…’

‘Perfect Prefect Percy, the pompous prat,’ Ginny interrupted, suddenly seeing her bespectacled brother through Hermione’s eyes. ‘Clever, hardworking, law-abiding…’

‘And usually dreadfully, desperately dull,’ Hermione finished. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be! I agree with your assessment of Percival Ignatius. At least Ron can crack a joke, although most of them are terrible.’ Ginny conjured herself a glass and poured half of the foaming amber liquid from the bottle.

‘Cheers.’ Ginny raised her glass. ‘ _You_ can drink from the bottle if you like, Miss Head Girl Granger, but _I_ am a lady, and after your shocking revelation, I need a drink.’ She took a long swig of beer, pulled a face, snorted, and belched loudly.

‘Very lady-like,’ Hermione said as she burst out laughing.

‘How much of this do I have to drink before I start to like it?’ Ginny asked.

‘It gets better after the first bottle, so it’s a shame that we only have one.’ Hermione sighed. ‘Why are we here, Ginny?’

‘Because we can’t sleep. Because we’re lovesick. Because we were going to meet our boyfriends in Hogsmeade tomorrow—today. Because they had to cancel because of work. Because Harry got into trouble the last time he was here, and that git Williamson is still making him pay. Because now we won’t see them until the Christmas holiday. Because…’ Ginny stopped. She had six fingers in the air, one for every reason. ‘Your turn, Hermione,’ she said, settling down to drink more beer.

Hermione first transfigured the beer bottle into a glass. ‘Now I’m a lady, too,’ she declared, clunking her thick brown glass against Ginny’s crystal.

‘Cheers,’ said Ginny.

‘Because our boyfriends are going on a potentially dangerous mission and we don’t know what it involves,’ continued Hermione. ‘Because we’re stuck in school. Because I miss Ron, and Harry.’

‘Because I miss Harry … and I even miss Ron, a bit, I suppose,’ Ginny added.

‘Because Ron didn’t really talk to me the last time he was here,’ Hermione added. ‘He just watched the Quidditch game and scarpered. Because we haven’t _really_ seen them since the first Hogsmeade visit seven weeks ago, and we won’t see them for another four weeks now.’

‘Tell me again,’ Ginny ordered, changing the subject before Hermione made her even more depressed.

Hermione sighed. ‘I’ve told you about the end of the Quidditch game dozens of times, Ginny, there’s nothing more to tell.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Rather embarrassed,’ Hermione remembered, ‘I don’t think that he actually meant to say the words aloud.’

Ginny felt like screaming. Instead, she took another sip of beer, pulled a face at the taste, and tried to keep the exasperation from her voice while she spoke. ‘You haven’t told me that, before, Hermione. So there obviously _is_ more to tell. What else haven’t you said? What happened before he spoke _the words_?’

Hermione thought carefully and tried again. ‘You’d been hit by the Bludger, but you were back on your feet with the team. You were jumping up and down like a maniac. Then you hugged and kissed the boys.’

 _Damn!_ Ginny remembered.

‘Three of them, anyway, you missed the Keeper for some reason.’

_Because he’s a rubbish Keeper, Hermione, haven’t you noticed?_

‘But Harry was just staring at you, watching you like there was no-one else on the field.’

 _You didn’t tell me_ that _before, either!_

‘Then he said it! He said “I love that girl”.’

Ginny grinned, took off her nightclothes, and jumped into the warm foamy water. She ducked below the surface and shook out her hair, enjoying the sensation of the long strands floating around her head. After holding her breath for as long as she could she pushed herself down to the bottom of the pool and jumped, for the simple joy of life.

‘Open the wine, ‘Mine,’ she called after crashing back down into the water with a splash. 

‘Hermione,’ Hermione corrected crossly.

‘Ron started calling you ‘Mine over the summer, I heard him,’ Ginny shouted as she swept wet hair from her face and swam across the pool.

‘He’s being sweet, if a little possessive, so I’ve been letting _him_ get away with it, _very occasionally_ , and in private,’ said Hermione. She used her wand to chill the white wine, uncork the bottle, and rinse the glasses. She poured the dry white wine and handed a glass to Ginny, who pulled herself out of the water to collect it. Hermione averted her eyes.

Ginny laughed at her friend. ‘We’ve shared a room since you first came to The Burrow; you’ve seen it all before.’

‘There wasn’t so much to see when you were thirteen.’

‘D’you think I’m fat?’ asked Ginny in concern.

‘No, Ginny, you’re not fat, you’re beautiful. Fit and … curvaceous … boys like that. Ron likes curvaceous; he still drools over Rosmerta.’

‘Ron likes you!’

‘Does he? Really?’ Hermione looked worried.

‘You know he does.’ Ginny suddenly thought of something … _I’ve been stupidly self-absorbed, why haven’t I asked Hermione?_

‘Hermione, when Harry said _the words,_ Ron was sitting next to you, wasn’t he?’

Hermione nodded. Ginny pulled on a fluffy white robe.

‘What did _he_ say; what did _he_ do?’

Hermione sighed. ‘He said “Good!” to Harry, then Williamson shouted at him and he went off to find Neville. He didn’t even say goodbye to me!’

‘My youngest brother is a complete git.’

Hermione gulped back half of her wine, then magically refilled the bottle.

‘Do you think that he’s having second thoughts about us?’ Hermione’s worries came tumbling out in a torrent. ‘He doesn’t write often! And he couldn’t finish with Lavender; he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt her.’

‘I’m not sure he _can_ write! And as for “Couldn’t bring himself to hurt her”!’ Ginny snorted scornfully. ‘You’re mistaking cowardice for sensitivity.’ 

‘Harry and Cho just sort of drifted apart…’ Hermione continued, unpersuaded.

‘She was wrong for him, too old and too emotional.’

‘Everybody knows that you’re still jealous of her, Ginny!’ Hermione informed her friend.

‘Everybody?’

‘Even Ron’s noticed,’ said Hermione acidly.

‘Bloody Hell! I didn’t think I was _that_ obvious!’

‘What’m I gonna do ‘bout ‘im?’ Hermione asked, finishing her wine in a second gulp, pouring herself another glass, and magically refilling the bottle again.

‘Dean asked me if we were going into Hogsmeade even though the boys aren’t.’

‘No!’ Hermione said forcefully. Then, suddenly curious, she added, ‘Isn’t he taking Luna?’

Ginny laughed, opened her eyes wide, and tried to make them pop out.

‘Ginny,’ she began, in a good approximation of Luna’s sing-song voice, ‘Dean wants us to get more physical. He’s very nice, he has lovely shoulders, but I’m not sure about some of the things he wants. You’ve kissed him, haven’t you? Did you enjoy it? I think his tongue is over-enthusiastic, and his hands seem to be everywhere.’ Ginny wriggled her fingers while moving her hands up and down an imaginary body. ‘I think poor Dean must have Blaster-Mites. They can be transferred by kissing, you know. I asked him. He said there were no such things. I don’t think that we’re suited.’

‘Poor Dean,’ Hermione said, laughing.

‘Clever Luna,’ Ginny corrected. ‘She didn’t want to move as quickly as he did. He gave her an ultimatum and asked her to choose, so that’s the end of it.’

‘But why?’ Hermione asked.

‘Dean knows what Nev and Romilda have been getting up to, and he knows about Seamus and Lavender. He’s convinced that you and Ron, and me and Harry, have _done it_ , too. I haven’t corrected him, so he thinks that he’s the only boy in his year who hasn’t. He’s desperate.’

‘We could tell Dean…’

‘We could _not_ , Hermione! It’s none of his business. I’ve written to Harry and told him that Dean has invited us both to Hogsmeade. Harry is certain to tell Ron. You need to keep my brother scared, Hermione, be more unpredictable.’

Hermione shook her head forcefully. All previous attempts to make Ron jealous had been disastrous for Hermione, Ginny knew. She watched her friend closely.

‘Ron cares,’ she assured Hermione. ‘He really does, honest.’

Hermione gave a wan smile.

‘There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?’ Ginny asked.

‘I’m worried,’ Hermione confessed. ‘Whatever they’re doing tomorrow, it’s likely to be dangerous.’

‘What’s Ron told you?’

‘No more than Harry’s told you, I expect. It’s all vague hints carefully hidden across several letters.’

Ginny nodded. ‘They can’t say much in their letters.’

‘I think that they’re going to be involved in a dawn raid tomorrow,’ Hermione said. ‘In the Midlands.’

‘Somewhere in Yorkshire,’ corrected Ginny. ‘It’s big, and it’s something to do with Wylde.’

‘I think every Auror is involved.’

‘And some Bailiffs from the Sheriffs’ offices,’ Ginny said.

‘Really? Ron didn’t mention that.’ Hermione gasped, and stared at her friend. ‘And he won’t have got the location wrong, either, Ginny! They’re not going to be together,’ she panicked, ‘Yorkshire and the Midlands! There are going to be two raids.’

‘There’s been nothing in the paper,’ Ginny said. ‘According to _The Prophet_ , the Aurors aren’t doing enough. The Ministry haven’t even announced that they’ve captured Wylde. I wish that we knew what was going on.’

‘They’d tell us, if they were here; Ron promised me that.’

‘Harry promised me, too,’ said Ginny unhappily.

‘But you’re right, Ginny, they’re not stupid enough to put anything about a secret mission in a letter.’

‘Was it worth it, Hermione, coming back here?’ asked Ginny thoughtfully after they’d sat in silence for a few minutes. ‘This place was no fun last year, but this year it almost feels worse. Harry’s alive and as safe as he can be, given that he’s an Auror. But I feel like I’m locked up here, being kept away from him for no good reason.’

‘We’ll get all of our NEWT’s, not just two or three, like the boys,’ stated Hermione, but Ginny caught an edge of uncertainty in her friend’s voice. They both missed their boyfriends, and now they wouldn’t see them until Christmas. They sat in silence, sipping wine and thinking.

Ginny had hoped to see Harry in October, when the exams cancelled from the previous year had taken place. But she’d been in lessons during the three exams Harry and the other trainee Aurors had taken; Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology. The Defence Against the Dark Arts exam had taken place at the Ministry, because no-one at Hogwarts last year had actually been taught the subject. The five trainee Aurors had been the only ones to take the DADA exam; all had passed, Harry with an Outstanding. Hermione had been offered the opportunity to take some of her exams early, too, but had decided to wait until the end of the school year. Ginny wondered if she now regretted her decision to wait until she’d had “a full year of proper lessons.”

‘If you really want to play professional Quidditch, you need to play here,’ Hermione said after a few minutes, still trying to justify their attendance at school. ‘It’s only seven more months.’

‘Thirty weeks,’ said Ginny, ‘two hundred and ten days before we’re at Kings Cross for the last time.’

‘Not that you’re marking the days off on a calendar or anything.’ Hermione smiled sardonically. ‘But it won’t be the last time we go to Kings Cross,’ she continued ‘I expect that we’ll be putting our own children on the Hogwarts Express one day.’

Ginny snorted with laughter. ‘Planning a decent Weasley-sized family already, are you?’

Hermione blushed. ‘A boy and a girl would be nice, but not for at least five years, possibly ten.’

‘It would,’ Ginny laughed. ‘But that’s what Mum thought, too. Personally, I think that I would give up after three boys, or three girls.’

They sat in silence, thinking about what they’d said about their future, and finished their wine in silence.

‘I’m clean and dry,’ Ginny announced. ‘And it’s almost three o’clock in the morning. Let’s go back to bed.’


	9. Hogwarts: Information?

**9\. Hogwarts: Information?**

When she and Ginny walked into the Great Hall for dinner, Hermione noticed a tall and willowy dark-skinned girl nudge Romilda.

The willowy girl, Romilda’s friend Frances Curling, was only an inch or so shorter than Harry. Hermione knew nothing about her, other than the fact that everyone called her Frankie. Romilda whispered something to her other friend, dumpy and brown-haired Thomasina Tuck. The three girls gleefully watched Hermione and Ginny approach. Despite her headache, which the hangover potion she’d made for herself and Ginny had not completely cured, Hermione sensed trouble.

‘You’re obviously not giving your boyfriend what he wants, Ginny,’ announced Romilda. Frankie and Tommy giggled.

‘Peeping Potter,’ continued Romilda, holding up a copy of the _Evening Prophet_ , the main headline of which she had just proclaimed loudly. The photograph of Harry was the one snapped outside the Hogs Head in October; he looked startled and rather angry. It was the most recent photograph the Prophet had of Harry, and they used it regularly. Ginny was likely to rise to Romilda’s baiting and explode. Hermione prepared herself to intervene.

The students surrounding Romilda and her cronies fell nervously silent as the Head Girl and the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain approached. One or two of them even moved their hands towards their wands. Looking at the _Evening Prophet_ ’s front cover which Romilda was smugly displaying to them, Hermione saw a smaller headline underneath and to the side of the main one. It read “Spellfire and Explosions as Aurors Raid Several Sites.” She glanced at Ginny, whose worried expression showed that she’d seen the more important headline, too.

Romilda turned the paper over and read the article gleefully, obviously misunderstanding the look of concern on their faces. ‘ _At dawn this morning, Harry Potter burst into my bedroom and dragged me from my bed. I always sleep naked_ , said attractive eighteen-year-old Pansy Parkinson…’

‘Well there’s the first mistake, in the very first sentence,’ snarled Hermione. ‘Pansy, attractive!’

Ginny sniggered.

‘Aren’t you worried about what _your boyfriend_ was up to?’ said Romilda, surprised at Ginny’s reaction.

‘He’s an Auror,’ Ginny snapped sarcastically, ‘He will have to deal with a lot of nasty, horrible, things. Hauling a naked slapper out of bed when he’s on a _raid_ won’t be the worst of them. I couldn’t care if it was Pansy, or you.’

Hermione groaned. Ginny was trying to pick a fight. Fortunately, Romilda had missed Ginny’s final insult; she’d stopped listening at the word “raid,” when she’d given a tinkling, dismissive, laugh. Frankie had heard, but fortunately Romilda was ignoring her friend.

‘ _Raid,_ ’ Romilda interrupted, talking over the end of Ginny’s sentence. ‘He wasn’t on one of the _raids,_ you silly little girl, he had an exam, like my Neville. _You_ ought to be worried about what he was doing in Pansy’s bedroom.’

‘An exam?’ Ginny snorted dismissively. ‘Is that what Nev told you?’

Hermione knew that usually there wasn’t much new news in the _Evening Prophet_ , but they had known about the dawn raids! She should have ordered a copy, just for today. Her mind went into overdrive. How could she get one? The Hogsmeade visit was over and the newsagents in Hogsmeade would now be closed, so sending an order by owl wouldn’t work. Hermione craned her neck, trying to read the paper, but Romilda was holding it at an angle, ensuring that she couldn’t.

What would Ron do? Hermione wondered. That was easy: he’d make up a reason to confiscate the paper from Romilda. But—that was _an abuse of power_. It was wrong, she was Head Girl, she couldn’t do that, _could she_? No!

She was brought out from her wild thoughts by the realisation that Romilda and Ginny were both snarling and hissing, squaring up for a fight. She needed to do something.

‘How many dawn raids were there?’ Hermione asked as politely as she could, well aware that a hush had fallen across the table. Everyone was trying to listen.

Startled, Romilda scanned the bottom of the page. ‘Five, each involved two squads of Aurors,’ she read.

‘Then that’s wrong, too,’ Hermione told Romilda, forcing herself to keep her voice polite. _Perhaps_ , she thought, _she could persuade Romilda to share the paper if she explained. At least Neville’s so-called “girlfriend” had, for the moment, turned her attention away from Ginny._

‘At full strength, the Auror Office was only about forty people,’ Hermione said. ‘They lost about half of them last year, they’re severely understaffed. Ten squads would be thirty Aurors. Even if Harry, Ron and all of the other trainees, and even Mr Robards, went on the raids, that’s only twenty-four.’

‘Sheriff’s Office Bailiffs,’ Ginny reminded her. Hermione’s brain accelerated to top speed.

‘Five raids,’ she calculated. ‘They probably sent one trainee on each raid, and supplemented the squads with Bailiffs. Was anyone hurt?’

Hermione’s hands were now twitching as she desperately tried to stop herself from snatching the newspaper. She tried to regain control of her emotions. _Ron must be all right. If he wasn’t, she’d have heard. Harry, too._ Nevertheless, she could feel the “always in control” Head Girl façade she had so carefully maintained since the beginning of term starting to crack. Ginny was watching her, a look of concern on her face.

_If those two boys had only listened to her!_ she thought angrily. They should be safe here at school with her, not off risking their lives somewhere. They should have taken their final year exams properly, but they had ignored her advice and now they needed her. Ron needed her, and she wasn’t there for him.

Romilda looked from Hermione to Ginny in astonishment. _Perhaps if I beg,_ Hermione thought wildly, _she might let me see the paper._

‘There was an explosion and spellfire at the Birmingham Office of Smith and Son Publishing,’ read Romilda.

‘Ron!’ Hermione squealed. This was too much for her. She dashed forwards and tried to snatch the paper from Romilda, who held it high above her head. Ginny took one look at Romilda’s smug expression and pulled out her wand.

‘Please,’ Hermione begged.

Romilda was so surprised by the anguished entreaty that, with a shocked expression, she wordlessly handed over the paper. Hermione pushed forwards and hastily spread the paper out on the table. She beckoned urgently to Ginny. For a moment, she thought that Ginny was going to hex Romilda anyway, but she decided to ignore the altercation, reading the article was more important.

Ginny lowered her wand with a regretful snarl.

‘Do you really believe that Neville was sent on a raid?’ Romilda asked curiously. Hermione clenched her fists, maddened by the girl’s obvious lack of concern, but simply continued reading.

‘Of course he was, you ignorant tart,’ Ginny snapped as she pushed Romilda aside.

‘May I?’ Ginny asked, pulling the front page from the newspaper. Hermione let her. Harry always made the front page. Hermione knew that she’d find the article dealing with Ron’s raid hidden inside somewhere. She was right, it was on page six.

‘What…’ Romilda began, colouring angrily, but Ginny interrupted.

‘Neville’s an Auror, so he was on one of the raids,’ Ginny said with certainty. ‘They all were, Harry, Ron, Susan and Terry, too.’

‘No injuries,’ Hermione announced in relief as she quickly finished the article. Perhaps now she should try to stop the argument between Ginny and Romilda. ‘Mr Ezekiel Smith was taken in for questioning,’ she told them.

‘Pansy’s Dad “was taken from his Pontefract home in handcuffs.” No one was hurt,’ Ginny announced. She’d been quickly scanning through a different article. ‘Poor Harry, he always gets the headlines for the wrong reasons.’

‘What about Neville?’ Romilda asked. She had finally been infected by some of the anxiety Hermione and Ginny were displaying.

‘Where was he?’ asked Ginny angrily. ‘Do you even know?’

‘In his last letter, he said that his exam was in Wales.’

_He dropped you a hint, but you didn’t pick it up_ , thought Hermione. She wondered how much Neville was telling Romilda. Not as much as Ron and Harry told them, she hoped. She scanned another article.

‘Found it,’ she announced. ‘He was in Pwllheli. “Four individuals were taken into custody at a Smith and Sons warehouse. The Auror Office has refused to give any details. A scar-faced youth claiming to be an Auror forcibly ejected a Prophet reporter from the building and illegally confiscated his camera.” That sounds like him.’

‘Well done, Nev.’ Ginny grinned.

‘No injuries at the other two raids,’ Hermione announced in relief. She calmed herself down and returned to her Head Girl tones. ‘One was “at the Shropshire home of Mr Theodore Nott, son of convicted Death Eater Thornton Nott.” The other was “in Auchtertool, Fife, at a farm owned by Einar Rowle, brother of the Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle (deceased).”’

‘At least everyone’s okay.’ Ginny sighed. ‘I’m sure we’ll eventually find out what’s been happening.’

‘You’re not seriously worried about _Harry Potter_ , are you?’ Romilda sounded amused. Hermione angrily rounded on her, but Ginny struck before she could formulate a reply.

‘You really are as stupid and self-centred as you appear to be, aren’t you?’ Ginny exploded. ‘Why does everyone assume he’ll be all right? People seem to think that he’s indestructible or something. He’s not superhuman; he’s got scars enough to prove that. He’s just … Harry.’

Romilda laughed dismissively. Hermione rolled her eyes, once again wondering why Neville was going out with such a silly girl. Ginny was coming to a boil, but Hermione didn’t even try to intervene.

‘The Ministry are trying to put them through a three year Auror training course in two years,’ snapped Ginny, staring at Romilda. ‘One-and-a-half years if they can manage it. And they were also studying for their NEWT’s until last month. And they get sent on active missions, too. Of course, I’m worried! Aurors get killed! Hermione’s just told you that the Auror Office lost half of their staff last year! Weren’t you listening? I worry about Harry. I worry about all of them. If you really care about Nev you should be worried about _him_ , too.’

‘If I care,’ Romilda began, outraged. ‘ _If_ I care! How dare you! Everyone knows that you only started chasing after Harry when he got interesting, after he fought Y-y-you-Know-Who at the Ministry.’

‘The so-called “Lord Voldemort” was called Tom Riddle,’ Ginny snapped. ‘And he was a lying, cheating, evil, little sneak, even when he was at Hogwarts. And for your information, I was at the Ministry, too. So were Nev and Luna and Hermione! You have no idea about Harry and me, you daft bint, none at all.’

‘I know that you dressed like a slut at that Hogsmeade party, and that you and “The Chosen One” argued!’ Romilda spat vindictively. ‘ _And_ I know that your precious boyfriend is still moping about it!’

Ginny’s face fell; Romilda smirked triumphantly. _She might as well shout “Bat-bogey me, now, you ginger moron,” at the top of her lungs_ , Hermione thought. Ginny was again reaching for her wand, she was going to oblige. Hermione grabbed her friends wand arm. It took both hands and all her strength to stop Ginny from raising her wand.

‘Sit down, Romilda,’ Hermione ordered. ‘And be quiet or else.’

‘Hiding behind the Head Girl, are you?’ Romilda asked. Ginny struggled to free her wand hand from Hermione’s grip, and Hermione was tempted to release it. _One more word from you, Romilda,_ she thought _and I will._

‘Miss Weasley, Miss Vane,’ the Headmistresses voice rang out from the top table. ‘Show some decorum, please. Five points, each, from Gryffindor. Now sit down or I will put you in detention … together!’

Romilda’s friends grabbed her arms and pulled her down into her seat.

‘Come on, Ginny,’ Hermione begged, dragging her furious friend away from Romilda, to the opposite end of the Gryffindor table. ‘I really don’t know what Neville sees in her.’

‘She’s already let him see everything,’ Ginny spat. ‘I think that’s the attraction.’ She was seething and continued to struggle with Hermione.

‘Calm down, Ginny, and let’s eat.’ Hermione begged. ‘Don’t let her get to you. She doesn’t know anything.’

‘She bloody does,’ Ginny snapped. ‘Someone must have told her what happened at the party! It can only have been Neville! I’ll be writing to _him_ tonight! Has Ron said anything to you?’

Hermione pulled Ginny down into a seat. ‘About Harry being upset?’ she asked. ‘No, not really.’

‘Not really!’ Ginny said angrily. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘Ron said that Harry was a bit down for a couple of weeks after the DA party,’ Hermione explained hastily, quailing under Ginny’s anger. ‘But he’s been fine since the Quidditch game, since he decided to tell you…’

Ginny glared at her. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

‘It was just a few flippant comments from Ron about Harry moping, and it was weeks ago,’ she protested. ‘You get at least three long letters from Harry every week, Ginny. I only get one short one from Ron, two if I’m really lucky. I assumed that Harry had told you.’

Ginny sadly shook her head; her anger ebbing away as quickly as it had risen. ‘Getting lots of letters from him is great, but sometimes I need to see his face, Hermione. You know what he’s like. He’s always pretending that he’s fine, that everything is all right, when really it isn’t.’

‘You’re right,’ Hermione agreed, as her friend revealed the reason for her concern. ‘Sorry, Ginny, I _do_ know what he’s like. I’ll tell you the next time Ron mentions anything. We need to compare notes more, don’t we?’

‘If I can’t see him, I can’t really tell if he’s upset about something and simply not telling me. He can hide stuff in letters, Hermione.’ Ginny agreed. ‘It’s a deal. Next time you hear anything from Ron, tell me, and I’ll do the same for you, I promise. Ron…’ Ginny hesitated. ‘Harry’s told me a lot about Ron, too, I know why his letters are so short. I promised Harry that I wouldn’t tell you.’

‘You did what?’ Hermione hissed. ‘Why?’

‘Harry’s trying to shield Ron from your temper, Hermione. He knows what you’re like about schoolwork and responsibility,’ Ginny sighed. ‘I’m going to tell you anyway. But first I want you to promise that you won’t be angry with Ron.’

Hermione glared at Ginny, willing her to speak, but the redhead simply waited silently for an answer.

‘I promise,’ Hermione sighed and gave a reluctant nod.

‘Ron isn’t working as hard as the others in Auror training. Harry stays at home, working and swotting, but Ron goes out a lot.’

‘What, where, why?’ Hermione panicked. ‘Is he ... has he … is there someone else?’

‘Yes.’ Ginny grinned mischievously, and nodded. ‘There’s someone else, Hermione. He’s called George.’

‘What?’

‘Ron’s helping George in the shop. He’s there so often that he’s relying on Harry to help him through the Auror exams, and he’s so busy that he’s simply scribbling short letters to you. He’s been trying to persuade Harry to write to me less often so that you won’t get suspicious. He worries about what you think of him, he doesn’t want to disappoint you.’

‘Then why isn’t he working?’ Hermione snapped. ‘He’s the one who wanted to be an Auror.’

‘The shop is in trouble, Hermione, serious trouble. George needs help, and Ron is the only one who can give it.’

‘But they were doing so well, before…’

‘Before the war,’ Ginny finished the sentence. ‘Yes, they were, but not as a joke shop.’

‘What?’

‘Ron’s been through the books, he’s told Harry. He’s told George, too, but George won’t listen, because the joke shop was Fred’s idea and George doesn’t want to disappoint Fred.’ Ginny paused for breath.

‘Apparently they’ve never made a huge profit from the joke items; they were doing okak, but they only make a couple of Sickles from the Skiving Snackboxes, and the other stuff. Our new Headmistress isn’t as easy going as Dumbledore, and you didn’t help George when you announced the ban on Weasley products. They simply aren’t selling so much. The fireworks make them money, of course, but you can’t make a fortune from stuff you sell at pocket-money prices. It turns out that it was the defensive items they sold that were the big money spinners. They made their money from Shield Cloaks and Decoy Detonators and stuff like that. And since The Battle, not many people are buying them either.

‘George is concentrating on rebuilding the joke shop business, he’s re-employed all five members of staff they had before the Death Eaters closed them down. Ron knows that the business can’t afford it. The shop was destroyed, you know that. George has received compensation, but he’s frittering it away paying his staff to manufacture stuff that just isn’t selling in the quantities they need to shift. Ron’s really worried about what might happen to George if the business goes bust.’

‘What can we do to help?’ Hermione asked.

‘Not much, other than let Ron get on with it. He’s working hard to get the business back on track, Hermione. He’s jeopardising a career as an Auror to help George, but you know he’d never be able to persuade George to simply let the business collapse; no one could, because “it’s Fred’s legacy”. Harry reckons that Ron should quit the Auror Office to go and help George full time, but he won’t. You know how pig-headed Ron can be.’

‘It’s not pig-headedness,’ Hermione said defensively. ‘He’s caring and considerate and he doesn’t like letting people down.’

‘Ron! Caring and considerate? He’s really got you, hasn’t he?’ Ginny laughed. ‘But, he’s trying to do two jobs and both of them are more than full time.’

‘Poor Ron,’ Hermione said with a sigh. ‘Tell him you’ve told me, and then I’ll be able to let him know that it’s okay.’

‘I can’t,’ Ginny replied. ‘Ron made Harry promise not to tell anyone, not even me. I’m not supposed to know any of the things I’ve just told you, so you certainly can’t, sorry. Ron does miss you, you know. He doesn’t know it, but the other trainees have a sweepstake on how often he says “I wish Hermione was here”. The record is thirteen.’

‘Thirteen times in one week?’ Hermione smiled happily. Ron was working hard, trying to help his brother, and he missed her. It would be nice if he wrote more often, but at least now she knew why he didn’t.

‘Thirteen times in one _day_!’ Ginny grinned.

Hermione’s heart leapt. Then she remembered her midnight excursion with Ginny. She’d risked being caught out of bounds as Head Girl; she had risked a detention.

‘Why didn’t you tell me last night,’ she asked, suddenly annoyed. ‘You knew I was depressed about Ron?’

‘It’s another thing that I promised Harry I wouldn’t tell you,’ Ginny admitted. ‘Ron still doesn’t know about the sweepstake and Harry was sure that you’d tell him if you found out. But if you’re going to tell me what Ron says about Harry I can’t keep things like that secret, can I? I’ll write and tell Harry that I’ve broken my promise.’

‘Don’t,’ Hermione advised, mollified. ‘I won’t say anything to Ron, I promise.’ She began planning. ‘I can surprise him with it when I see him and you can confess the next time you actually meet Harry. If you choose your moment he’ll forgive you instantly. I watched you and Harry over the summer. You know exactly how to make him do anything for you.’

‘I thought I did,’ Ginny replied. ‘But after Hogsmeade I’m not so sure.’

‘You overdid it,’ Hermione told her.

Ginny nodded. ‘I know, I didn’t mean to, I just…’

‘…Had a wardrobe malfunction?’ Hermione asked.

Ginny laughed. ‘I’ll tell Harry that.’

Hermione smiled. ‘They get teased a lot, you know, all three of them,’ she added.

‘Teased?’ Ginny asked.

‘They get ribbed about us, about having schoolgirls for girlfriends,’ Hermione told her friend. ‘At least two of the Aurors give them a hard time about it.’

‘Harry mentioned that, when we were outside the school gates, but we had more important things to talk about. Do you know which two Aurors?’ Ginny asked.

Hermione shrugged. ‘No. Ron hasn’t told me. He thinks it’s really funny.’

‘Harry probably doesn’t,’ Ginny said. ‘That will be why he won’t have mentioned it in his letters.’

_What else didn’t Ginny know about Harry?_ Hermione wondered. ‘Do you know that Harry regularly gets invited to all sorts of Ministry functions and private parties?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ confirmed Ginny.

‘Do you know that all invitations are to Mr H J Potter and guest?’

‘He’s told me that, too. But he doesn’t even go, unless Kingsley asks personally,’ said Ginny. ‘That’s only happened twice. Kingsley only insisted that he take a guest the first time. After that the Minister decided that it would be best to let Harry go alone.’

‘Ron didn’t tell me that.’ Hermione was curious. ‘Who did Harry take?’

‘Andromeda Tonks, but she had to bring Teddy, too.’ Ginny grinned. ‘Four month old babies don’t care whether it’s a private formal dinner or not. They cry and fill their nappies when they want to.’

‘Andromeda Tonks?’ Hermione was surprised.

‘Harry sees ‘Dromeda and Teddy at least twice a week,’ Ginny said. ‘When I found out, I wrote to her to ask how Harry’s coping. She’s turning into another of Harry’s many “more mature” conquests. She and Mum should start a club for older Potter fans. “He’s a wonderful godfather to Teddy and he’ll make a great father one day”, Mrs Tonks told me when she wrote back. She also says that he’s a “Keeper”.’

Hermione laughed, then glanced up at the top table and lowered her voice. ‘I think that our Headmistress would join that club, too, provided that she could do it anonymously.’

Ginny’s face creased into a smile and she gave a rich, deep chuckle. ‘It’s not as well kept a secret as Minnie the Moggy likes to think.’

‘Minnie the Moggy!’ Hermione was shocked at such disrespect.

‘Not so loud,’ Ginny hissed. ‘You must have heard _that_ name before.’ Hermione shook her head.

‘But _loads of people_ use it!’ Ginny sounded amazed.

Deciding not to comment on the Headmistress’s nickname, she lowered her voice. ‘Did you know that girls regularly approach Harry at work, and sometimes even in the street, to ask him out? And that he gets sent a love potion at least once a week?’ 

‘No … well … sort of … yes,’ Ginny replied thoughtfully. ‘He’s made a few jokes about that in his letters. But he’s never mentioned how frequent it was. I bet that gets him down, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, it really annoys Ron, too,’ said Hermione. ‘He’s very touchy about love potions, you know.’

‘With good reason,’ said Ginny.

The two girls stopped their discussion in order to glare angrily down the table at Romilda, who was talking to her friends, and didn’t notice.

‘Ron often shouts at girls who pester Harry. He’s even made a few of them cry.’

‘Leave him alone, you little tart,’ Ginny growled, mimicking her youngest brother. ‘He’s going out with my sister.’

‘That’s about right,’ Hermione laughed. ‘Ron says that Harry hardly ever goes to Diagon Alley. He walks through Muggle London from the Ministry to Grimmauld Place and stays there most nights, working and studying.’

‘I wish that we knew what had been happening today,’ said Ginny. ‘I don’t suppose that Romilda will let us read her Evening Prophet now.’

‘Not likely,’ Hermione agreed.

‘You’re Head Girl, you could just confiscate it from her.’

‘I can’t, not without a good reason,’ Hermione said, suppressing a smile. She wondered if all of the Weasleys thought like Ron.

‘I could plant some banned Weasley products on her,’ Ginny offered.

‘No, Ginny, I won’t do it.’ Hermione folded her arms and firmly reminded herself that, tempting though it was, such an act would be an abuse of her position. ‘Anyway, you shouldn’t have any “banned products” to plant on her because _they are banned!_ ’

‘Oops.’ Ginny pulled a panicky face before grinning. ‘Am I in trouble, Madam Head Girl?’

‘You should be,’ Hermione looked into her friend’s face, and gave up. She didn’t want to fight Ginny, though her friend could be as insufferable as Ron sometimes. ‘Oh, forget it. There’s no way to get a paper now.’

‘You’ll have to subscribe to the _Evening Prophet,_ too,’ Ginny suggested.

‘No, most of the time there’s not much of a difference from the morning paper,’ Hermione told her. ‘Anyway, why should I get two papers. You could take out a subscription.’

‘Can’t afford it,’ Ginny grinned cheerfully. ‘Not unless I cancel one of my other subscriptions, and I can’t be without Quidditch Today, Quidditch Weekly and The Quibbler.’

‘The Quibbler!’ Hermione snorted. Ginny could be very immature sometimes. ‘And why get two different Quidditch…’ she began.

‘”Today” is best for match analysis, “Weekly” is best for equipment reviews,’ interrupted Ginny. ‘And The Quibbler is always good for a laugh. Nothing is more important than Quidditch and the Quibbler, Hermione. Nothing except Harry, of course.’

With a sigh, Hermione acknowledged to herself that this was another discussion that she’d never win.

‘You’ll just have to wait until I get the _Sunday Prophet_ tomorrow morning,’ she told Ginny. ‘And I’m not going to let you read it over my shoulder. You can wait until I’ve finished.’

‘You don’t even look at the back pages. You could give me those to read. I need to see the match reports.’

‘Are they more important than the headlines?’

Ginny grinned, ‘Usually, yes. But you’re right, not tomorrow they’re not. I want to find out what’s been happening to the boys. They should be off duty by now. I wonder what they’re doing?’


	10. Grimmauld Place: Explanations

**10\. Grimmauld Place: Explanations**

Apparating onto the front step of 12 Grimmauld Place, Ron entered the house, threw his cloak in the general direction of the rack, and hurried along the corridor. Bursting into the dingy oak-panelled dining room, he looked anxiously at the four people who were sitting around the long, dark oak table; they were already eating!

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said apologetically. ‘I, er, called in to see George, to go through the books with him again. It took a lot longer than I expected.’ 

The table was much too large for the five places set. His fellow trainees were huddled at the end nearest to the only window. It was late, and it was dark outside. It had been dark when Ron was finally released from duty at six o’clock, more than two hours earlier. It had been dark when they’d reported for duty at six that morning, too. Ron had seen very little daylight; he’d been indoors most of the day.

The gloomy room did nothing to lighten Ron’s mood. The light from the chandeliers appeared to be being sucked into the overpowering darkness of the walls. Despite Kreacher’s best efforts, polished dark-stained oak was little better than dirty oak and the room remained cheerless. The drab surroundings made him shiver, he hoped that the dining room would be the next to be redecorated.

The two dozen chairs around the table were the same dark-stained oak as the table and the walls. They were solid, cumbersome and high-backed. Above them he could see the backs of two heads. The flaxen hair, tied up into a tight bun, belonged to Susan Bones, while the cropped fair hair belonged to Neville.

Harry sat next to Neville. He was at the head of the table, the curtained window behind him, and he looked up and smiled as Ron scurried around to the vacant place. Ron’s seat was next to Harry, opposite Neville. In the seat beside Ron, a head of close cropped and thinning brown hair lifted momentarily. The burly, plain featured and jug-eared young man, Terry Boot, acknowledged Ron’s arrival with a nod before going back to the serious business of eating.

Opposite Terry, dimple-chinned Susan had followed Ron’s hasty entrance with her piercing blue eyes.

‘Better hurry, Ron,’ she advised. ‘It’s Kreacher’s vegetable broth and Terry’s on his third helping.’

‘Fourth,’ corrected Neville. ‘There’s not much left.’

‘How much is not much?’ Ron panicked. He looked at their faces. They were teasing him, he knew, but he’d had nothing, other than a hastily snatched ham sandwich, since breakfast. He was starving.

‘Don’t worry, mate,’ Harry told him. ‘I wouldn’t let them start without you.’

‘Start?’ Ron asked as he peered anxiously into the tureen. ‘It looks like you’ve almost finished.’

Everyone laughed at him.

‘We haven’t started anything important, Ron. Everyone is here to discuss today’s missions, remember?’ said Harry.

Ron ladled the steaming broth into his bowl, grabbed the remaining four crusty rolls and piled them on his side plate.

‘I’m starving,’ said Ron unnecessarily. He broke a bread roll in half and crammed the largest part into his mouth while slurping the broth.

‘You always are, Ron. But don’t worry, there’s steak au poivre, chips and salad for the main course,’ Harry continued. ‘Why don’t you start, Terry? It will give Ron a chance to catch up with the food. I know from long experience that he doesn’t operate well on an empty stomach.’

‘Okay,’ Terry began, his voice a deep bass rumble. ‘Edmund Byers was in charge of my team, at least in theory,’

‘The potions expert?’ asked Neville.

Terry nodded, ‘Brilliant in the laboratory, apparently. I can see why Mr Robards likes to keep him there. Ineffectual!’ Terry was a man of few words. ‘We got to Rowle’s place about an hour before dawn. You?’

‘Yes,’ the others chorused their agreement.

‘I was with Byers, Ottilia Ball, Polly Protheroe and two Bailiffs from the Sheriffs’ offices. We used the standard approach-and-enter technique Auror Fergus has been drilling into us for weeks.’ Terry paused as his fellow students smiled, Fiona Fergus liked rote-learning.

‘On approach, check the area for alarm spells,’ Terry began the chant.

‘When satisfied, cast an Anti-Apparition Jinx over the area,’ Susan parroted.

‘Approach the target cautiously, continually detecting for dark magic,’ Neville added.

‘En’er kick’ly ‘n ‘nounce y’r ‘den’ty,’ mumbled Ron through a mouthful of broth. Susan watched him in disgust.

‘Rapidly secure the area using whatever force is required,’ Harry finished, smiling. ‘I expect that we all did the whole operation strictly by the book.’ Susan shook her head, but didn’t speak.

‘Polly Protheroe blew out the door and a good chunk of the wall with the Reductor Curse,’ Terry continued. ‘I’m glad that I was standing a long way behind her.’

Ron looked up and saw Harry lean forward, mouth half-open, obviously waiting for an opportunity to interrupt. He’d want to know about the Reductor Curse. Terry noticed, too. The burly trainee paused, looked at Harry and smiled.

‘I asked Protheroe about her Curse,’ Terry told them. ‘A final wand-flick increases the power. It’s a trick she learned from Mad-Eye. She’ll show us how it’s done next weekend.’ There were murmurs of approval from around the table.

‘Byers announced our presence,’ Terry continued. ‘No one answered and he dithered, so Protheroe took over.’

‘She’s the one who shaves the sides of her head and dyes her hair black, isn’t she?’ Susan observed. ‘She looks rather scary. But she’s not that much older than us.’

‘She’s got a blackbird tattoo, left ear,’ Terry observed.

‘She’s the same age as Tonks, they trained together,’ Harry supplied. Everyone turned to look at him and listened with interest as he continued. They always did, Ron had noticed. Even the senior Aurors stopped and paid attention if Harry decided to speak. Ron listened to his friend, too, but he didn’t stop eating – he had a lot of catching up to do.

‘We were alone in the office together a couple of weeks ago and she asked me if I wanted a cuppa. She knew I was Teddy Lupin’s godfather and we got talking,’ Harry explained.

‘Mmm?’ Ron asked.

‘The tattoo behind her ear is a raven, not a blackbird, Terry.’ Harry smiled wryly. ‘You should’ve known that, she was in your house. She’s got a Raven’s claw on her left shoulder blade to prove it. And a dragon, a Hebridean Black, all the way up her right arm.’

Ron hastily swallowed his broth. ‘Did she ask if you fancied going to the pub later, or did she offer to show you her other tattoos?’ he asked Harry suspiciously.

‘We just chatted, Ron, that’s all,’ said Harry, grinning.

‘She’s good,’ Terry resumed his story. ‘One person in the house, Einar Rowle. Protheroe found him with the Invisibility Revealer. She told the two Bailiffs to cover the door and we followed Rowle. He had Disillusioned himself, but Protheroe didn’t let on that we knew where he was. She decided that he probably knew what we were after, so she ordered us to keep back. She realised that he was heading for the cellar. We stayed on the ground floor and kept almost directly above him. When he stopped moving Protheroe blasted a hole in the floor and we Stunned him. There was no need; the blast had knocked him flat.’

‘Anyway, we found the list of names,’ Terry went on. ‘Over eighty Muggle-borns on it. Byers brought Rowle round and questioned him. He tried to bargain, but Protheroe said she was Muggle-born, said some of the names on the list were friends of hers, and if he knew where they were, he’d better tell us. He did. We found ten of them locked in a barn, all wandless. He’d been using them as farm labourers. They were terrified when we broke in; he’d told them that…’

‘That Harry was dead and Voldemort had won, right?’ Neville interrupted grimly. ‘That he was _keeping them safe from the Death Eaters_ who were rampaging across the country and slaughtering every Muggle-born that they could find; that they should be grateful little slaves!’

Terry nodded. ‘How many did you all find?’ he asked.

‘There were more than four dozen in Pwhelli,’ Neville said angrily. ‘All of them malnourished and a lot of them showing signs of torture. We had to pull in most of the Welsh Law Office to help us. Auror Topping took six of the Muggle-borns straight to St. Mungo’s because they were so close to death. They were all former Healers, too. All sold into slavery by Wylde. I thought that Madam Blood was going to explode. She told Uriah Smith the grisly details of the interrogation techniques she’d used on Death Eaters at the end of the first war. She told him that she was a little out of practice, so if she tried them out there was the possibility that she might accidentally kill him.’

‘Minister Shacklebolt has banned all dangerous and violent interrogation techniques,’ Susan interjected angrily. ‘The Deputy Head Auror shouldn’t be…’

‘I know,’ interrupted Neville, smiling apologetically. ‘Deputy Head Auror Blood told him that, too … but not until after he’d turned green and confessed. He’s in the Auror cells at the Ministry now.’

‘Parkinson had no slaves.’ Harry was next to take up the story. ‘He didn’t even put up a struggle; he just sat quietly in his living room and confessed. Robards was astonished, and really annoyed. He was expecting a big fight. I think that he was _hoping_ for a big fight. They reckon he’s been trying to arrest Parkinson for years.’

‘Parkinson claimed that he’d been blackmailed into helping the gang by Wylde. He admitted that one of his great grandmothers on his mother’s side was Muggle-born and claimed that Wylde had found out. It was a rather disappointing raid, nothing exciting happened. Everyone was in bed when we blasted through the front door. We hauled everyone downstairs, kept them separated and questioned them all individually. Pansy and her mum did nothing but cry the whole time we were there. It wasn’t pleasant.’

‘No Muggle-borns?’ Neville asked.

‘No, we looked everywhere, too. Piers Parkinson claimed to have wanted nothing to do with the slave trade. He’s an arrogant sod, It was like he was laughing at us,’ Harry observed. ‘He reminded me a lot of Lucius Malfoy. The old smarmy and supercilious version that is, not the babbling drunken wreck Lucius was the last time I saw him. But Parkinson co-operated with us and it looks likely that he’ll get off with a hefty fine.’

Ron hastily gulped down his broth. ‘There were no Muggle-borns in Birmingham either,’ he told his friends. ‘Ezekiel Smith denied all knowledge of any criminal activities. He even invited us to search the place, the smug git – not that we needed his permission, we all had warrants. We searched for hours; we didn’t even stop for lunch! I’ve had one sandwich since breakfast! But we didn’t find anything. Eventually, Philippa Fortescue left me and Auror Keen to question the greasy little pillock while she went for a cuppa. At least, that’s what she said.’

‘We were getting nowhere,’ Ron continued as Kreacher cleared their plates away and began serving the main course. ‘Ezekiel Smith denied everything. Then Gryfudd Llewellyn from Nev’s team arrived with the evidence from Pwhelli. We confronted him with it, but he claimed that his cousin, Uriah, must have been doing it without his knowledge.’

Ron paused, broke the last bread roll in half and used it to mop the last drops of broth from the tureen before Kreacher removed it. He hastily swallowed the roll, hardly bothering to chew, and continued his story. ‘We thought that we’d have to let him go, but then Philippa turned up with all of Smith’s files. They gave us all the proof we needed that he’d been up to his neck in it, so we arrested him. It turns out that Philippa had asked Smith’s secretary to make them both a cuppa, and while they were drinking tea and gossiping she managed to persuade the secretary to tell her where Smith kept all of his confidential files. Wylde, Parkinson, Rowle, and Nott had quite a business going, I’m not sure how they started…’

‘I am,’ Susan picked up the story. ‘Wylde was the Muggle-born Registration Commission’s representative in St Mungo’s. He was sent lists of those Healers Umbridge’s office suspected of being Muggle-borns. He passed the names to his gang before summoning any of the Muggle-borns before the Commission. That allowed Parkinson to arrange “escapes” for the Muggle-borns and their families. They handed over all their money for safe passage, then they had their wands taken and were effectively enslaved. Wylde used Parkinson because, unlike both Rowle and Nott, he’s never been associated the Death Eaters.’

‘But Robards and the Sheriffs’ Offices are certain Parkinson is linked to a lot of criminal activities,’ Harry observed.

‘Criminal,’ Susan pointed out. ‘Not Death Eater or Dark Magic, so that’s for the Sheriffs and Bailiffs in Magical Law Enforcement, not the Auror Office. The Sheriff of Yorkshire might not have been able to catch Parkinson, and Robards is a friend of the Sheriff, but it looks like he hasn’t found much, either. What was Smith’s involvement?’

‘Smith was simply in the market for cheap labour, no questions asked,’ Ron said.

‘During the war he had them mass producing Anti-Muggle-born pamphlets for the Ministry,’ Neville said, holding his steak knife like a dagger and waving it violently. As he watched his friend, Ron was glad that none of those arrested in Wales were in the room. He’d never seen Neville so violently angry.

‘And?’ Harry turned to Susan.

‘Theodore Nott,’ Susan announced, ‘is completely innocent.’

‘Really?’ Ron asked.

Susan raised a fine blonde eyebrow in an elegant expression of scorn that was as good as any he’d received from Hermione. ‘I doubt it, but we’ll probably never know. We “checked the area for alarm spells,” but we must have missed something, because when we approached the house, Nott opened the door and invited us in. Williamson was livid; for some reason he blamed McLoughlin. Theodore Nott is a cool one. Did any of you get to know him at school?’

The young men all shook their heads.

‘He was a real loner,’ Neville declared.

‘I saw him hanging around with Zabini sometimes,’ observed Ron thoughtfully, ‘but I think that they were just together because they didn’t want to hang around with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.’

‘Theodore Nott certainly didn’t have the reputation among the girls that Zabini had,’ Susan observed.

‘Reputation? What reputation?’ Neville asked. Susan, to everyone’s amazement, blushed.

‘Blaise was supposed to have had lots of girlfriends; that’s all,’ she explained. ‘He could be a real charmer.’ 

‘Speaking from experience?’ asked Ron curiously.

‘He didn’t get anywhere with me,’ said Susan matter-of-factly. She pursed her lips and managed to look even more severe than usual. ‘But he did try. Parvati said that I should be honoured, that he was very picky; but I’m not so sure. Lavender said that last year he got off with both Daphne and Pansy, and Padma and I once caught him with… But that’s not important. Last year he chased Ginny for a while, too.’

‘What?’ Ron spluttered.

‘Hasn’t Ginny told you about the time we raided the Slytherin Common Room?’ asked Neville, grinning.

‘It’s fine, Ron, she’s told me,’ Harry assured his friend before turning back to Susan.

‘But none of that has anything to do with Nott,’ Susan said. ‘He answered all of Williamson’s questions quickly and, apparently, honestly.’

‘Interesting,’ said Harry.

‘Theodore Nott claims that his father, Thornton Nott, forbade him from having anything to do with Voldemort and that his father rejoined the Death Eaters simply because the alternative was death,’ Susan continued.

Ron grumbled under his breath while cramming steak into his mouth.

‘It’s a plausible story,’ Susan continued quietly. ‘His father was a Death Eater, we all know that. Thornton Nott had joined Riddle early on, even before Lucius Malfoy.’

‘Theodore – I’ll call him Theodore and his dad Thornton to avoid confusion.’ Susan sounded unhappy about using the young man’s forename. ‘Theodore claims that, after Voldemort’s first defeat, his dad decided that the unbeatable “Dark Lord” wasn’t unbeatable after all.’

Ron snorted disbelievingly, dribbling pepper sauce down his chin.

‘Ron, you are the most disgusting eater I’ve ever seen,’ Susan remarked, shuddering. Shaking her head, she returned to her story.

‘Unlike Lucius Malfoy, Thornton kept his son the background. He did what he was ordered, but no more. He didn’t offer Theodore a chance to join. In fact, according to Theodore, his father told him to keep out of it. Theodore is actually proud of his father. He admitted that if Voldemort had won, he would have joined his father in the ranks of the Death Eaters. But he lost and Theodore—unlike Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle—didn’t follow his father and is technically innocent.’

‘I wish we knew where Goyle is hiding,’ Harry grumbled. ‘I can’t believe that he’s still on the run.’

‘I thought I saw him in the summer,’ Ron observed. ‘It was in the gorilla enclosure at the zoo. But it turned out it was just an exceptionally ugly gorilla.’

Neville and Terry snorted with laughter.

‘He’s still free,’ Harry reminded them seriously. ‘But what about Theodore, he may be technically innocent but he must have known something.’

‘About Voldemort? Lots, but he claimed to be too frightened to talk and we all know how good that defence is. It was true for a lot of people, “keep quiet or die!”’

‘I meant about the slavery business,’ corrected Harry.

‘That’s what Williamson said, too,’ Susan replied. ‘But Nott claimed otherwise and he _was_ at school when all of this was going on, as he reminded us. He asked us what we wanted, so Williamson told him.’

‘Why?’ Terry grunted.

Susan shrugged as she delicately chewed a small piece of steak. ‘We hadn’t found anything during our search. He had no choice, really.’

‘When Williamson told Theodore, he summoned a house-elf, Shilly, and asked her if his father had ordered her to hide any papers. The poor thing started hitting her head on the table. Nott ordered her to stop and reminded her that, as his father would never be released from Azkaban, he was now the head of the house. To cut a long story short, old man Nott _had_ hidden some stuff. Theodore ordered her to retrieve them and handed them all over to us. They confirmed his story. They did it brilliantly. It’s as though his father had actually written them to make certain that Theodore had no case to answer.’

‘He probably did,’ observed Harry.

‘All of this, everything we’ve found, confirms Wylde’s story,’ Ron pointed out. ‘Just because his wife thinks he’s innocent, it doesn’t mean that he is. We’ve got his confession under Veritaserum, it’s an open and shut case. Wylde agreed to take Veritaserum, too. I still think that Kingsley’s made a mistake banning its use without agreement from the suspect.’

‘The new rules mean that the court is told if the accused refuse to take it, Ron,’ Harry pointed out.

‘Does anyone know if there’s any way to fool Veritaserum?’ Ron began, ‘I’ve often wondered what would happen if…’ He stopped mid-sentence and watched Kreacher enter the room with Harry’s newspapers, the _Evening Prophet_ and the Muggle _Evening Standard_.

‘What does that headline say?’ Ron spat angrily.

Harry took the papers from his house elf and swore. He showed the front page to his friends “Peeping Potter”.

Harry read the first few sentences of the article aloud, his voice trembling with anger. ‘I suppose it’s too late for me to tell you that I did drag Pansy from her bed,’ he sighed. ‘But she was _not_ naked.’ He shuddered at the thought. ‘She was wearing pyjamas, purple ones I think. I wasn’t actually paying attention I just wanted to get her out of her room and downstairs, so that Fiona Fergus could search the place.’

Ron burst out laughing. ‘I believe you, mate, it looks like you’re going to be sick at the thought of it.’ He moved his fork hopefully towards Harry’s plate and his still unfinished main course. ‘If you _are_ feeling a bit sick, I can finish your steak for you.’

Harry grinned and protected his food from his friend. ‘Gerroffit, Ron. The thought of a naked Pansy isn’t _quite_ enough to put me off my dinner.’

‘It’s ridiculous!’ Terry snapped. ‘We raid five properties, rescue more than sixty imprisoned Muggle-borns and finally announce the capture of one of the only two known Death Eaters still on the run. But the paper prints _that_ as its main headline!’

‘Welcome to the world of Potter, mate,’ said Ron ruefully. ‘It doesn’t matter what _we_ do, if Harry’s involved, he’ll get the headlines … and they’ll probably be wrong.’

‘Sorry, Terry,’ Harry apologised. ‘Like I said, it’s not even true, I can try to get Pansy to withdraw her allegation, but I can’t make the papers print what they should.’

‘It’s not your fault, Harry,’ Neville said. ‘It was the same when we broke into the Ministry, and after the Battle, it’s like the rest of us are invisible.’

‘It’s wrong!’ Harry shouted, suddenly angry. ‘Why do they do this? Why did Pansy lie?’

‘She got her name and photograph on the front page, Harry,’ said Susan, her voice quiet and calm. ‘That’s probably all that “attractive eighteen-year-old Pansy Parkinson” wanted.’

Harry swore under his breath. ‘I’ll have a word with Kingsley, tonight. We’ll get a factual press statement out for tomorrow’s _Prophet._ But first I’d better write to Ginny and explain.’

‘She’s not daft, mate,’ Ron reassured his friend. ‘She’ll know that the headline is a load of bollocks. Look on the bright side, we’ve all got through our first proper mission, and it’s been a success, apart from the papers.’

‘Not completely, Ron,’ Harry said morosely. ‘I was convinced that either Nott the Death Eater, or Parkinson the criminal, was behind the slavery business and that Wylde was just a stooge.’ Harry shook his head sadly. ‘I know that Wylde has confessed, but I’ve talked to his wife several times. She’s completely convinced that he’s innocent, and he just doesn’t seem the type to me.’

‘There are still a lot of people missing,’ added Neville grimly. ‘Wylde claims that he has no idea where they are.’

‘We’ve been through the paperwork, Ron,’ said Harry. ‘There are eighty-four Muggle-borns named on the lists we recovered from Rowle’s places. We’ve found sixty-three of them. There’s no sign of the rest. Twenty-one men, women and kids have vanished. Katie and Leanne have been preparing a list of “The Missing” for the Society for the Assistance of Muggle-borns, but it turns out that not everyone we’ve found was even reported missing. Katie reckons that there are more than a hundred Muggle-borns missing, or dead.’

‘We could torture Umbridge until we find them,’ Ron suggested.

‘Ron!’ Susan was shocked. ‘She doesn’t know where they are. She was simply the reason that they fled.’

‘It would make me feel better,’ Ron scowled.

‘It wouldn’t, mate,’ Harry said quietly.

‘I know!’ said Ron, nodding sadly. He crashed a fist down on the table in frustration. ‘It’s just the … injustice … of it all. That evil bloody woman! It might’ve been Hermione in one of those places! She might be missing, or worse.’ Ron paused and looked thoughtfully at his friends, ‘But we’re better than Umbridge, we pursue the guilty, not the innocent, don’t we?’

‘I hope so, mate,’ Harry said.

They finished their meal in a morose silence. Neville, Terry and Susan stayed late, drinking Butterbeer and re-analysing their separate missions. It was almost midnight when the three visitors left Ron and Harry alone in Grimmauld Place.

After they others left, Ron watched Harry carefully. His friend was sitting at the dining table once again looking through the list of names of the missing. Ron recognised the signs; Harry was beginning to obsess, to push himself. The case was proving hard for all of them. Even the usually aloof and detached Susan had a grimness about her when discussing the Wilde case. It was difficult for most people not to get emotionally involved; for Harry, it was impossible. He would never give up, Ron realised.

‘We’ll find ‘em, mate,’ Ron said quietly.

‘Dead or alive?’ Harry asked bleakly.

‘A lot of people were killed, Harry,’ Ron told his friend gently. ‘It’s possible that the best we’ll be able to do is find out where they were buried, and, hopefully, who killed them. Today was a good day, half-a-dozen people arrested and more than sixty freed. And look on the bright side… it’s not every day that you get to see Pansy naked!’

‘I told you I didn’t…’ Harry began angrily, before seeing the mischief on Ron’s face. Harry laughed. ‘This is just great! It’s bad enough when you take the Mickey about the stupid things I _have_ done.’

‘It’s Mum you need to worry about, mate.’ Ron smiled. ‘And Bill, I expect, but me and Ginny, we’ll just…’

‘Tease me unmercifully, I know.’ Harry smiled. ‘So, how’s George?’

'Business isn't getting any better; I spoke to the staff, told them that we can't afford to pay them all and asked if any of them wanted to work part-time. George and Fred hired extra staff when they were raking money in from the Ministry contracts a couple of years ago. They should never have promised to re-employ them “when this is all over.” It turns out that Verity had been offered a better paid job at Honeydukes, but she was frightened to tell George. We let her go immediately. George wanted to give her a month's pay in lieu of notice, but she wouldn't hear of it, bless her,' Ron said.

‘Big Mac and Little Mac have both agreed to go part time ... Gordon McNamara and Tammy MacLeod,’ he explained to a puzzled Harry. ‘It’s not enough, we’re still making a loss, but it will help.’

Ron stopped and looked carefully at his friend. ‘I’m in trouble with the Portkey Office, too,’ he admitted. ‘I was looking through some experimental stuff at the back of the shop and I found a book…’

Ron looked around the room to ensure that no one else was listening, though there was no need as there was no one else other than Kreacher in the house.

‘George’ll tell you anyway,’ he whispered. ‘The book was called Witches Wearing Nothing. I opened it.’

Harry sniggered.

‘You would’ve too!’ Ron protested. ‘Anyway, as soon as I opened it there was a blue light and I ended up in the street, but my robes stayed behind, I was in the middle of Diagon Alley in nothing but socks and boxers, and still holding the bloody book. I Apparated straight back to the shop but the Porkey office had spotted the unauthorised Portkey and they sent some of their staff to both origin and destination. That’s the real reason I was so late.’

Harry howled with laughter.

‘The Portkey guys told me that it was impossible, that Portkeys could only be operated by either touch, like the goblet, or a timed switch, like that old boot, not by simply opening a book. But—like a lot of things they did—Fred and George didn’t know that it was impossible, so they did it anyway. The pages were blank by the way, Fred’s a… Fred was a… bollocks, I can’t call a dead man names.’

'I really don't think he'd mind,' suggested Harry quietly. 'In fact I reckon that he'd probably be pleased.'

Ron nodded thoughtfully and looked up at the ceiling. ‘You’re still a pain in the bum, Fred,’ Ron said, smiling sadly.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Ron continued, looking serious. ‘George says that the Portkey book could be activated by either opening or closing. I reckon we could enchant our handcuffs as Portkeys so that as soon as we close them the suspect is sent to a cell.’ Ron looked carefully into Harry’s face and watched his friend see the possibilities.

‘That’s brilliant, Ron,’ said Harry.

‘Thanks,’ Ron said, grinning, ‘I thought so, too. Don’t tell _anyone_ until we have a prototype ready to demonstrate to the Ministry. This might be the sort of thing me and George need. We could save the business and, because that Portbook was originally Fred’s idea, I reckon George will be up for it.’

‘Save the business?’ Harry asked. ‘Are things really that bad?’

‘Almost. We desperately need more money spinners and fewer staff,’ Ron admitted. ‘If the company goes bust then you’ll never see the money you gave the twins.’

‘I don’t want it back, Ron. I never did,’ Harry told him.

‘You’re going to get it,’ Ron replied forcefully. ‘You’re going to get it from me, Harry, and you’re _not_ going to tell George until after I’ve paid you back. Because then he’ll owe _me_ that money, not you! That’s when the stubborn one-eared sod will discover that he has a banker who _wants_ to get involved in the business.’


	11. Dungeon: Discussions

**11\. Dungeon: Discussions**

Fenella Gray was the tallest girl in the school; she knew this because she’d checked. The fact that she had finally stopped growing was no comfort to the seventeen-year-old student. She desperately wanted to be smaller.

Despite her size Fenella was being backed into an alcove in the Slytherin common room. She was blinking rapidly under the gaze of the angry trio facing her. When the back of her calves hit an armchair, she slumped gratefully into the seat and hunched downwards, shrinking as much as she could. She always felt more comfortable when she was seated, when she was not looking down on everyone.

Pushing her thick, black-rimmed, glasses back up over the bump on her nose, Fenella used the action to observe her cousins Aaron and Zoë Wylde. They, and her little brother Archie, moved in closer and stared at her. Fenella was beginning to panic. She hated being the centre of attention, but she was the _Prefect_ , so they expected _her_ to do something.

Her cousin Zoë was a slim and athletic fourth-year. She was also almost a foot shorter than Fenella. Zoë was everything that Fenella wasn’t but, for some reason Fenella didn’t fully understand, they were still friends.

Fenella watched Zoë run her fingers through her curly brown hair. Actually, Zoë had placed both hands on her cheeks and pushed them up her forehead and through her hair. The fourth year girl was brushing tears from her eyes while trying not to let anyone see what she was doing. Fenella recognised the action; hiding tears was a family trait, it was an action she’d done often enough herself.

Zoë’s brother, Aaron, was the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. A broad shouldered young man whose shoulder length hair was as curly as his sister’s, Aaron was in Fenella’s year. He was as tall as Fenella, but for a boy, six foot one inch was a good height to be. Aaron had his arm around his sister. He was scowling and the copy of the Sunday Prophet in his hands rustled as he shook it angrily.

‘We should hex them,’ Fenella’s brother Archie suggested.

‘Who?’ Fenella asked, though she knew the answer.

‘The Weasel and the Mudblood,’ said Archie viciously.

‘Archie!’ Fenella silenced her brother with a single word, and gave her appalled cousins a look that expressed both outrage and apology.

She glanced quickly around the Slytherin Common Room. The dimly lit room, with its collection of alcoves and corners, was designed to create a lot of quiet areas for whispered conversations. Some of these recesses were badly designed, making it possible for people to eavesdrop. Fenella had long suspected that this was deliberate. After seven years, Fenella knew the best locations fo privacy, and this was her favourite niche. Satisfied that no one could overhear, she leaned closer to her brother, who had pulled up a chair in front of her and whispered, ‘You should know better than to use _that_ word. Just think about what would’ve happened to Aunt Wendy last year had anyone known.’

‘Sorry,’ Archie Gray made an embarrassed apology to his cousins, but continued on his rant. ‘But we should do _something_ to them, because they’re the only members of Potter’s gang we can get to.’

‘ _They_ haven’t done anything,’ Fenella said. ‘It was the Aurors who arrested Uncle Will.’

‘Potter and Ron Weasley _are_ Aurors, and their girlfriends are _here_ ,’ Archie pointed out.

‘Never mind _them_. This is all lies.’ Aaron thundered, waving the paper in Archie’s face.

‘I know, Aaron,’ said twelve-year-old Archie, quailing under his cousin’s anger. Aaron and Zoë perched themselves on the arms of Archie’s chair and leaned in close.

‘But what can _we_ do about it?’ Fenella asked nervously. ‘We’re still at school.’

‘So what? Potter, Granger, the two Weasleys, Longbottom and “Loony” Lovegood broke into the Ministry when they were fourth and fifth years,’ Zoë pointed out.

‘They all fought in the battle last year, too,’ Aaron reminded Fenella.

‘Exactly,’ Fenella announced triumphantly. ‘We’re not like _them_! We’re just _ordinary_. Head Girl Granger is a genius. She takes more classes than everyone and she’s top in all of them.’

‘The Weasley girl’s ordinary enough apart from when she’s flying – and that hair of course,’ Aaron argued. ‘Her brother is positively thick, Lovegood is completely insane and pretty much everybody thought that Longbottom was completely useless until last year.’

‘Zoë fancies Longbottom,’ said Archie, smirking.

‘I do not,’ Zoë protested, angrily thumping her cousin on the arm.

‘You said that he could do a lot better than the vain Romilda,’ argued Archie.

‘That doesn’t mean that I fancy him,’ said Zoë, blushing.

‘Who do you fancy then?’ asked Archie, grinning.

‘Archon Wylde,’ Fenella used her brother’s full forename, making him scowl. ‘Just you be quiet.’

‘Potter claims that _he’s_ ordinary, too,’ said Zoë. ‘You told us so, Fenella, after you’d been to the Creevey boy’s funeral.’

‘They did all seem sort of normal at Colin’s...’ Fenella paused, and tried to concentrate on the current problem, and not that dreadful day. ‘At least they did until that reporter showed up. Then it was all shouted orders from Potter and everyone else running around doing exactly what he asked.’ _Not like me,_ she thought. _The bravest thing I ever did was go to my friend’s funeral._

‘What do you think was going on between Granger and the Weasel, and Vane last night?’ Zoë asked, forcing Fenella from maudlin memories. ‘It looked to me like Vane was teasing Weasley about Potter.’

‘About Parkinson, probably,’ Aaron observed. ‘Potter managed to get _that_ story squashed quickly, but surely no one will believe _these_ lies.’

Aaron laid his crumpled copy of the _Sunday Prophet_ on the table, smoothed it out, and the quartet crowded round to reread the front page.

_**Aurors Make Arrests**_

_The Auror Office made several arrests in a series of dawn raids across the country yesterday. Head Auror Gawain Robards declared Operation Wildcard a complete success. The Auror Office informed us that several people were taken into custody yesterday and that a large number of Muggle-borns were released from captivity._

_Our reporter was told that these arrests resulted from significant information gained over recent weeks. Information received subsequent to the previously unannounced arrest of wanted Death Eater Wilberforce Wylde. When questioned about the secrecy surrounding Wylde’s arrest which (reporters were informed yesterday) took place several weeks ago, Head Auror Robards told us that keeping the arrest secret was essential while further investigations took place._

_The Head Auror refused to speak further about Wylde’s arrest. When asked if yesterday’s arrests had anything to do with Wylde’s attempts to resurrect He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Head Auror said, “Of course not! There was not, and has never been, any such plot. Voldemort is dead, how many times must I tell you that?” The Head Auror then read out a prepared Ministry statement._

_(See page 5 for the full Ministry Statement – together with an in depth analysis.)_

_Yesterday’s arrests included that of Mr Ezekiel Smith, the Managing Director of Smith and Sons. Mr Smith was arrested in Warwickshire, at the firm’s Birmingham Head Office, and has been charged with multiple counts of kidnap. Late last night a spokeswizard for the firm condemned the arrest, claiming Mr Smith had bravely risked his life and livelihood by protecting Muggle-borns. The spokeswizard, Mr Zebediah Smith, brother of the arrested man, told the Sunday Prophet that the Muggle-borns found at the Caernarfonshire parchment manufacturing business (see article, page 3) had been relocated by the Smiths to keep them safe from the Muggle-born Registration Commission._

_The Auror Office, however, claim that the fifty two individuals released from Smith and Sons Pwhelli factory were unaware of the defeat of You-Know-Who. When asked about this claim Mr Zebediah Smith admitted only that the Muggle-borns released were wandless. He claimed that their wands had been removed for their own safety. “They were fighting among themselves, you know what these Muggle-borns are like,” he said. Mr Smith went on to dismiss the Auror Office claims that the Muggle-borns were being held captive and had been forced to work long hours or face starvation._

_Mr Zebediah Smith was unable to answer any further questions, as during the interview he, too, was taken in for questioning by three uniformed Aurors who, rather reluctantly, gave their names as Protheroe, Lister and Strang._

_In yesterday’s other raids, a dozen Muggle-borns were released from the Rowle Farm in Fife, where Mr Einar Rowle was arrested. The Auror Office has charged Mr Rowle, brother of the Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle (deceased), with kidnap._

_In the West Country, the home of imprisoned Death Eater Thornton Nott was also raided. The Death Eater’s son Mr Theodore Nott was not arrested. In an exclusive interview, he told the Prophet:  
“I, personally, have never been involved in any activity which could be construed as supporting ‘Lord Voldemort’ or whatever you want to call him. My father’s involvement was, unfortunately, necessary as he made the mistake of becoming a Death Eater during the first war, and disloyalty, as everyone knows, was rewarded by death. I have done everything possible to assist the Auror Office. All of the raids yesterday resulted in arrests, all, that is, except the raid on my property. I cannot be held responsible for my father’s activities and I want nothing more than to return to obscurity.”_

_(Read the full interview “Death Eater’s Son Speaks Out” on page 9.)_

_Piers Parkinson, well known entrepreneur and long time business associate of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy was arrested at his Yorkshire home. Mr Parkinson has also been charged with kidnap. His wife Priscilla and daughter Pansy are currently under Law Office protection at an undisclosed location. Mrs Parkinson and her daughter have, however, issued a statement in which they refute the comments attributed to Miss Pansy Parkinson in yesterday’s special edition of the Evening Prophet. Mrs Parkinson states that her daughter was not naked, as claimed yesterday. She added: “My daughter is a very close school friend of Mr Potter. They shared many classes at Hogwarts and she has always been willing to assist him in any way possible. Mr Potter and his squad of Aurors behaved courteously and professionally. I am confident that they will soon discover that my husband was blackmailed into assisting the Death Eater Wilberforce Wylde.”_

Zoë was sobbing quietly when she finished the article; Aaron and Archie were white faced and angry. Fenella, who had already read the article several times, watched her family with concern.

‘Death Eater!’ Zoë sniffed.

‘He has the mark,’ Fenella nervously reminded her cousin. Aaron Wylde glared at her.

‘He does,’ Fenella protested in an anxious whisper. ‘The Aurors have tests, they can prove it! They have witnesses, too.’

‘They are _all_ wrong,’ protested Zoë. ‘I know that they are. They must be!’

‘That’s impossible, Zoë,’ said Archie sadly. ‘He’s confessed, too, under Veritaserum.’ Archie was close to tears as he spoke.

‘My father is not a Death Eater,’ Aaron Wylde snarled angrily. ‘He was a Healer!’

‘You’re really certain that he’s not a _Death Eater_?’ Fenella asked nervously, whispering the last two words. Her cousins nodded, Zoë was crying. Aaron had clenched his jaw and was cracking his knuckles. Fenella was close to tears herself; she needed to do something.

‘If you’re sure, we need to prove it,’ Fenella squeaked. ‘Let me think.’

She leaned back in her chair and slouched even lower, silently pondering the problem while Archie, Aaron and Zoë read the other newspaper articles.

Fenella wished that her Gryffindor friend, Colin Creevey was still alive. He would have helped her; he would have been happy to give her advice. Her size had never bothered him, and throughout school he’d been her only real boy friend – _boyfriend!_ She hastily pushed that thought to the back of her mind.

She’d met Colin in the school camera club in their first year. He’d been small even then, but at eleven she had been nowhere near as tall as she was now. She’d stayed nervously in the background, but he’d started talking to her.

He was Muggle-born and excited and he knew nothing. He didn’t even know enough to know that Gryffindor students, especially Muggle-borns, shouldn’t be getting friendly with pure-blood Slytherin girls. He’d been passionately interested in photography, but he’d known nothing about wizard cameras so, carried away by his enthusiasm, she’d helped him.

Colin had been a brilliant photographer. He had even photographed her. She now had all of the negatives, and the only photograph of her he’d printed. She kept it very well hidden.

Of course, he was also a typical Gryffindor, often raging about injustice, especially in his last year at school, his OWLs year. Fenella closed her eyes and her small, annoyingly cheerful, Gryffindor friend smiled at her. “When something’s wrong, it’s wrong, Fenella,” he reminded her.

His pictures showed his passion. Hers, he’d often told her, were technically better, but she knew that he was being polite. The “mistakes” in his photographs, whether a slight over-exposure or lack of focus (or whatever other trick he decided to use) was always deliberate and invariably improved the final image.

Colin Creevey could capture moods and feelings and personalities with his camera. She could capture nothing but the facts with hers. Fenella desperately wished that she could talk to him. He’d know what to do. She blinked tears from her eyes at the memory.

She’d tried to keep Colin safe last year. She’d warned him to go into hiding as soon as her father had told her about the Muggle-born Registration Commission. Colin could have just vanished, but instead he’d warned his friends and joined some resistance group. Then he’d come back in May and fought, and died. “You have to fight injustice,” he’d told her that when he was fifteen.

As she sat and thought, Fenella had an idea, she had several ideas. Common sense told her to say nothing, to do nothing, but Colin’s words continued to haunt her. “When something’s wrong, it’s wrong. You have to fight injustice.”

She sighed and, with Colin’s words still ringing in her ears, she finally spoke. ‘If we’re going to prove that Uncle Will is not a Death Eater, we need to know why the Aurors think that he is. We need to find out what they know about him. We also need to know if there is any way to fool Veritaserum,’ Fenella announced. She blinked rapidly, took off her glasses and polished them and then beckoned everyone closer.

‘Archie,’ she began. ‘You’re the best of us at potions and you’re already one of old Sluggy’s favourites. Try to butter him up. Take your time, take as long as you need to get into his good books, but when you think he’s ready ask him if there is any way to fool Veritaserum.’

‘Zoë,’ said Fenella. She hesitated before continuing nervously. ‘You know that Trudi Pepperell’s been a bit funny with you since the Gryffindor game?’ Zoë nodded.

‘D’you know why?’ Fenella asked.

‘No,’ Zoë shook her head.

‘She’s been trying to get off with Colin’s brother, Dennis,’ Fenella whispered. ‘He’s the Gryffindor Prefect in her year, but Dennis is always asking Trudi about _you_. He’s asked her if you have a boyfriend, I know because Trudi asked me if you did.’

Archie Gray sniggered; Aaron Wylde smacked him gently over the head.

‘You’re the littlest one here, Archie,’ said Aaron threateningly. ‘Just keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.’

‘What, exactly, do you want me to do?’ Zoë asked.

‘I don’t know, but there’s a chance that Dennis might know something. He was in Potter’s gang with Colin, and last month he went to that horrible old pub in Hogsmeade with them all. Even if he doesn’t know anything, he might be able to find out, if you ask him nicely. He wants to be an Auror. You could tell him that you’re interested, too,’ suggested Fenella. ‘I don’t know what else to tell you, because boys never look at me, but the Vane girl’s been boasting that she can make Longbottom do absolutely anything, and you’re a lot better looking than she is.’

‘Zoë is _fourteen_!’ hissed Aaron angrily.

‘And I’m _certainly_ not doing the things Romilda’s been doing,’ Zoë announced.

Fenella blushed and carefully examined her fingernails while replying. ‘No … not … not … No! Just be nice to him, that’s all—he’s only fifteen. See what he knows.’

‘What about my team?’ Aaron asked aggressively.

‘Team?’ Fenella looked at him blankly.

‘Quidditch,’ said Aaron angrily. ‘I don’t want two of my Chasers falling out with each other over a scrawny little Gryffindor boy!’

‘Dad is more important than Quidditch,’ Zoë said firmly. ‘What are you and Aaron going to do, Fenella?’

‘I’m going to research the Ministry. I’ll write to Father and tell him that I’m doing a project on filing systems for the camera club and I’ll ask him how the Ministry organises its files. I’ll say that the camera club need to find a better way catalogue our photographs, he’ll believe that,’ said Fenella. ‘Actually, it’s true!’ she added. ‘And … and … and … I’ll … try to get close to Granger, Lovegood and Weasley. They were nice—at least Ginny Weasley was nice—to me at Colin’s funeral and father said that I should get close to them, too. He said that they are the new elite and that promotion within the Ministry isn’t based on what you know, but who you know,’ she added.

‘Your Dad’s been saying that for years, and look where it’s got him. My Dad thinks that he should just try working a bit harder, instead of always complaining about favouritism.’ Aaron observed. ‘So, what about me?’

‘You’re Quidditch Captain because you’re a good tactician, Aaron. We need a plan, and we need those files. See if you can find any plans of the Ministry, and plan a way to break in and steal the Auror files,’ whispered Fenella. She decided not to argue with Aaron about her father.

‘Break into the Ministry?’ said Aaron loudly, astonished by her suggestion.

Everyone looked worriedly around the common room, but it appeared that no one had heard his outburst.

‘Like Zoë said, Potter and his friends did it when they were fifth years,’ Fenella reminded him. ‘So, what do you think?’

Aaron Wylde nodded, as did his sister. Archie Gray beamed.

‘Wow, ’Ella,’ he told his sister. ‘I didn’t think that you had it in you.’

Fenella lowered her head and nodded while looking at her lap. She didn’t want them to see the horror in her eyes. They had all agreed! Not one of them had argued! Now she’d have to actually go through with this preposterous and dangerous plan. Aaron was rubbing his chin, a sign that he was he was already planning. Zoë had swivelled on the chair arm and was looking carefully at her fellow chaser, Trudi Pepperell. Archie was positively bouncing with excitement.

Fenella decided to leave them to it. Hopefully within a few days they’d realise that it was impossible. She stood and tried to escape to the girls’ dormitory corridor, but Aaron grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

‘Scouting mission,’ he whispered. ‘We need to get into the Ministry, and we need to know where we’re going once we manage to get inside. I’ll have a word with Professor Slughorn and suggest that the school arrange a trip to the place for any final-year students interested in a career there. Old Sluggy will probably take credit for the idea himself, and it’ll be better for us if he does. If we can organise it, you’d better come along, Fenella. You can photograph everything.’

* * *

The end of term feast was over and the Slytherin common room was almost deserted. Most students were in their dungeon rooms, packing for the train home in the morning. Fenella beckoned her brother and cousins across and they all sat for a hasty conference.

‘I _finally_ got a decent reply from father today,’ announced Fenella. ‘It wasn’t easy asking those questions without him realising what we were trying to find out. Every department in the Ministry has a different filing system, and they aren’t compatible. The Auror Office keep their files secure, so do Magical Law Enforcement. They are in locked filing cabinets in locked rooms at the end of locked corridors, there’s no way to get to them.’

Aaron Wylde scowled. ‘We’ve been wasting our time. Are there no copies anywhere else?’

Fenella sighed. She had hoped that would be the end of it, but Aaron had asked the right question and he always knew when she was lying. Everyone always seemed to know when she lied. She nodded timorously.

‘Yes. A copy is sent to the Department of International Magical Cooperation, to the International Magical Office of Law. Their filing room is on Level Five and it should be a lot easier to get into their files.’ 

‘Brilliant,’ Aaron beamed, ‘I think that I know when, too, thanks to Zoë.’

‘I’ve just lost Slytherin ten points,’ Zoë said, blushing. ‘Dennis trapped me under some mistletoe and Trudi Pepperell caught us both. She was furious.’

‘Slytherin Prefects never take points off fellow Slytherin’s. I told her that at the beginning of the year,’ said Fenella.

‘They do now,’ Zoë told her. ‘Dennis doesn’t know much, but he did tell me that the Ministry will be almost deserted on Sunday afternoon and evening. Everyone will be at the Mage’s Hall. Dennis just asked me to go to _the Minister’s Presentation Ball_ with him. I turned him down. I told him that he shouldn’t be asking a Death Eater’s daughter out to a Ministry function. He said that I wasn’t a Death Eater, and I’d always seemed … nice. He’ll hate me when he finds out what I’ve been doing.’

‘So what?’ Archie asked as he fidgeted excitedly. He groaned. ‘Oh, _NO_ , don’t say that you _really do_ fancy the little twerp. I’m already bigger than he is, and I’m only twelve.’

‘She doesn’t,’ Aaron Wylde told his cousin. ‘Do you, Zoë?’

His sister shook her head, but Fenella noticed that she kept her eyes down so that her brother couldn’t see them.

‘Have you got anywhere with Professor Slughorn yet?’ Fenella asked her brother, changing the subject.

‘I had a word with him after the feast,’ Archie said. ‘He was rather drunk, so I thought he’d be easy to get an answer from, but he’s sly. He just laughed and asked me what a lad of my age could possibly have to hide. He said “There is an antidote. A carefully prepared wizard who takes the antidote within a day of being questioned can freely lie under the potions influence” and he asked me a question.’

‘Antidote!’ Aaron was surprised.

‘But even if Dad had taken an antidote,’ Zoë said, ‘why would he lie to incriminate himself?’

Aaron shrugged. Archie folded his arms and glared at the others.

‘D’you want to hear the question?’ he asked.

‘Is it important?’ Zoë asked.

‘Yes,’ Archie nodded firmly. ‘He asked, “what does Veritaserum do?”’ Archie looked at his sister and cousins.

‘It makes people tell the truth, of course,’ Aaron said dismissively. Archie rolled his eyes.

‘Now I know why you dropped Potions, Aaron,’ he snorted. ‘No subtlety. I’ve been thinking about what old Sluggy asked and I’m fairly sure what he was hinting at. Aaron, pretend that you’ve taken some and answer these two questions, okay?’

‘Is this a joke, Archie? Because if it is, you’ll be in trouble,’ Aaron warned.

‘No joke, honest, Aaron. First question: does Zoë fancy Dennis?’

Zoë glared at her young cousin.

‘No … I don’t think so … I don’t _actually_ know for certain,’ announced Aaron after some thought.

‘Exactly! Now, the second question, suppose that she did, but that she’d just told you she didn’t…’ Archie stopped and nodded over Aaron’s shoulder. Trudi Pepperell had arrived in the Common Room and was watching them suspiciously.

‘I’ll tell you all on the train, tomorrow,’ Archie announced.


	12. Christmas: Declaration

**12\. Christmas: Declaration**

The lights of Muggle factories, shops and houses slipped past the windows. As the train rattled closer to Kings Cross Station, closer to Harry, Ginny looked nervously across at the compartment’s only other occupant, Luna Lovegood.

Leaving the dark green calf-length dragonskin coat, which George had bought her for her seventeenth birthday, on the seat, Ginny stood and carefully examined her reflection in the window. The Muggle clothes she was wearing would be fine, Hermione had assured her. She straightened the hem of the short, but not too short, denim skirt. Her black tights were thick and warm, as was the bright green jumper she’d worn at that less than perfect Hogsmeade visit eleven weeks earlier.

It was six weeks since she’d last seen Harry and that had been for only a few, fleeting moments just before, and just after, the Slytherin game. Ginny sighed.

‘You look lovely, beautiful,’ Luna observed. ‘I’m sure Harry will think so, too.’

‘Thanks, Luna. I hope you’re right. I thought that I knew what Harry found attractive. Now I’m not sure,’ said Ginny uncertainly. ‘I wonder if he’ll approve, and what he really likes.’

‘You,’ Luna told her with certainty. ‘Just the natural you, especially your hair and your eyes. He isn’t bothered about make-up, or fancy clothes; so long as you look like you.’

‘Are you sure?’ Ginny asked, unconvinced.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Luna. ‘Certain, I asked him at the DA reunion party.’

Ginny burst out laughing. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You didn’t ask me,’ Luna told her seriously. ‘Daddy says that you must never expect to be told things. If you want knowledge you must seek it out yourself, then you must check the facts. I asked Harry, he told me. You asked me, I told you. Now you must check the facts.’ Luna gazed openly into her friends face and gave her a lop-sided smile.

Ginny sat down next to the blonde witch and hugged her, ‘Are you all right, Luna? You’ve been very quiet all day.’

‘I’m very well, thank you, Ginny. I’ve been thinking.’

‘About Dean?’ Ginny asked. Luna nodded.

‘You’re not still upset about him?’

‘Because he’s stopped wanting to kiss me?’ Luna asked. ‘No, we really weren’t suited. He’s very demanding, isn’t he?’

‘He’s certainly very physical. He’s a doer, not a thinker,’ agreed Ginny.

Luna laughed rather more than the remark deserved. ‘He’s become very interested in wandlore you know, since he lost his own wand,’ she told her friend. ‘Mr Ollivander says that wandmakers are artists; that they need to feel the magic of wandwood and core, to match the wood with the creature. I think that Dean would be a good wandmaker. He’s a talented artist, clever with his hands; and very good with them too,’ Luna seemed lost in contemplation for a minute or two. ‘But relationships need to be more than just physical, don’t they?’

‘They do, but after eleven weeks of letter writing, with our last kiss six weeks ago, physical will be a very pleasant change for me, Luna. Physical can be a lot of fun, with the right person,’ said Ginny. ‘From my, so far, very limited experience,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘But, seriously, Luna, if you are unhappy—if you want someone to talk to—please tell me.’

‘I will,’ Luna replied. ‘Thank you, Ginny. You’re my best friend, you know. You were my first,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘Now I have lots of friends, I think that Fenella wants to be my friend, too.’

‘And you’re one of my best friends, Luna.’ Ginny smiled fondly at her. ‘You, and Hermione. Fenella is all right for a Slytherin, I suppose. Though she’s been asking an awful lot of questions about Harry and the Auror Office over the past few weeks. But Colin liked her, and we know how much she helped him.’

The train began to slow, and Ginny got excitedly to her feet. Thankful that she’d left her trunk at school, she said goodbye to Luna, picked up her coat and dashed into the corridor. Forcefully pushing her way past several protesting younger children in order to get to the door, she pulled down the window and peered out. The bitterly cold December wind sent her bright red hair flying. Her eyes watering in the icy air, she pulled her head back inside and shrugged on her coat.

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was thronged with people and Ginny’s mind filled with anxious thoughts. _How would she be able to find Harry? How would he see her? She lived several inches below most people. She was usually the one at the front in photographs, if she was ever at the back she would be standing on a chair._

The brakes squealed and the train shuddered. She looked down the platform and laughed at her foolish anxiety. Harry was easy to see. There was a space around him. A ring of people were watching him carefully, but they were keeping a respectful distance from him. They were unsure whether they dare approach “the Chosen One”.

He saw her. His sun-bright smile dazzled her, and his wave was wild and excited. Even before the train had stopped, she had the door open. Jumping onto the platform, she ran into his open arms. Then she was kissing him, and he was kissing her, and their two and a half months apart were over, just like that.

His lips were cold, but she soon warmed them up.

Breathless from the kiss, she stepped back and looked at him. He was wearing the multi-coloured scarf her Mum had knitted and wrapped for him last Christmas (more in hope than anything else—twelve months ago no one had known where he was). His black dragonskin coat hung open revealing a bright red shirt and black trousers.

‘You’re looking good, Weasley, very good,’ he told her. Her hair was windswept, she was wearing almost no make-up, her jumper was baggy and far from new, and she was showing very little flesh. She noted his approval.

‘So are you,’ she smiled. ‘So, apart from getting four NEWTs and passing your first-year Auror exams after only six months training, what have you been doing, Harry?’

‘Work, and not much else,’ he told her with a smile. ‘It seems that working hard is the best way to pass exams.’ Scanning his surroundings, he lowered his voice. ‘Just don’t tell Hermione that I’ve finally figured it out. I’ve heard her “I told you so” lecture far too many times already.’

Ginny laughed, and hugged him. ‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ she assured him.

* * *

There really wasn’t any news. Harry had told her everything; he wrote three letters a week, sometimes four and she replied to them all. The only thing she had to tell him was the Headmistress’s request, at the end of term feast, for pupils to work harder to bring the houses together.

She knew that Ron was working until eight in the evening. He wasn’t able to meet Hermione from the train. When Harry enquired, Ginny admitted that she hadn’t seen Hermione on the journey. The Head Girl had been in the Prefect’s carriage, “Organising as only Hermione can,” Ginny told her boyfriend, making him laugh. Harry expressed some concern about Hermione, but Ginny assured him that she was going to do some Christmas shopping before going to Grimmauld Place to meet Ron.

The selfish part of Ginny was pleased that Ron wasn’t able to meet Hermione off the train. When the Headmistress had asked if anyone was interested in a Ministry career a couple of weeks earlier, only a half-dozen seventh year students had shown an interest. Hermione had been one of them.

Ginny had been furious when she later discovered that the Headmistress had asked because Professor Slughorn had arranged a trip to the Ministry, during term time. No mention had been made of the trip when the question was asked, because Professor McGonagall had wanted to ensure that only those students who were seriously considering working in the Ministry would go. Ginny had, retrospectively, tried to get onto the trip, and Professor Slughorn had done his best for her, but the Headmistress was unmoved. What was worse was that Hermione had arranged to meet both Ron and Harry in the Auror Office. The three had gone for lunch in London while, back in Hogwarts, Ginny had sat through her lessons in a jealous sulk.

Just days after Hermione’s Ministry visit, Harry had written to warn her that he, along with Ron and the other trainees would be on duty over most of the holiday period “to allow those Aurors with families to spend some time at home.” Harry was working on Christmas day, eight until eight. It was unfair, but there was nothing she, or he, could do about it.

Ron, she knew from discussions she’d had with Hermione, had been given the same shifts as Harry. He had protested at the Christmas shifts, but had been told that “families” meant wife and children, not parents and siblings. Despite this, he’d continued to argue with Senior Auror Williamson. The outcome of this argument was that he had not only been refused leave, he’d been formally reprimanded by the Head Auror, Gawain Robards. Afterwards, Williamson had coolly, and cruelly, reminded Harry that he had no family at all.

Harry had known that he had no chance at all of getting any leave, but Ron and Harry visited the Burrow regularly for Sunday dinner and the Sunday after the Christmas shifts were announced, they had told Molly about the arrangements. In one of the longest of his letters, Harry had described Ginny’s mother’s reaction to his holiday shifts, and to the “no family” remark. He had not needed to. No imagination was needed; Ginny could clearly see her mother exploding on being told. Her Mum had, apparently, barged her way into Kingsley’s office and demanded that Harry and Ron get special treatment. It had done no good. Kingsley had firmly refused to overturn the Head Auror’s decision. One consequence of this was that the Minister wouldn’t be receiving an invitation to dinner at the Burrow for quite some time. Another was a reassessment of the Minister’s, and the Ministry’s, security systems.

Harry, Ginny knew, wouldn’t have accepted special treatment anyway. He wanted to be ordinary, to be treated like everyone else.

Given the limited time they had over the holidays, she and Harry had carefully planned their time together. One of Harry’s precious days off coincided with the Weasley family’s “obligatory, compulsory, be there or else!” completely unavoidable trip to Aunt Muriel’s. Ginny had written to her mother and told her that she wouldn’t be going, that she’d be seeing Harry instead. To her amazement, instead of the Howler she’d expected. she got a letter saying “that’s fine”. Harry had already broached the subject with her mother.

Harry, she had discovered, would be an ideal ally whenever she wanted to get around her mother. He enjoyed all of the advantages of being a Weasley, but suffered none of the disadvantages. Her mother regarded him as one of the family but, despite this, she was a lot less likely to scold him. Ginny was certain that they could make that work to their advantage more than they already had. They would have five full days together over the holidays, and several evenings. Plus tonight; and Harry had been very mysterious about tonight.

* * *

‘Where are you taking me?’ Ginny asked.

‘It’s a surprise,’ Harry told her. ‘But I’ll tell you if you really want to know.’

‘I don’t need to know,’ she said honestly. ‘I’m with you, so I’ll be happy.’ Her words were rewarded by his very best smile.

‘I hope you will,’ said Harry a little nervously. ‘I’m taking my girlfriend on a date.’

‘So, where are we meeting the lovely Pansy?’ asked Ginny; a twinkle in her eye. After the smile he’d just given her, and after rereading all of Harry’s recent, wonderful letters on the train she knew that this time she could risk teasing her boyfriend. He looked down into her mischievous face and burst out laughing.

‘You, Ginny Weasley,’ he smiled. ‘Are my friend, my girlfriend, the girl of my dreams and …’ he swallowed, and gazed into her eyes ‘… and … the girl … I love.’

Ginny beamed. Hearing the words; watching Harry’s bright green eyes shine as he shyly stuttered his love, was so much better than reading them. She grabbed his hands and smiled encouragement.

‘Tonight it’s just us two,’ he told her. ‘I love you, Ginny, I’ve loved you for years and I’ve been too stupid to say it, I’m sorry.’ Ginny kissed him lightly, because she needed to stop him apologising. But the kiss had to be short, so that she could look up into his eyes to tell him what she needed to say, and what he—there was no doubt—needed to hear.

‘I love you, too, Harry, and it sometimes seems as though I’ve loved you forever,’ she told him. ‘You haven’t been stupid, but you have been bloody slow in telling me. I forgive you. Now, kiss me again, and then take me away from this station and its curious crowds.’

Harry looked up, he hadn’t been paying any attention to his surroundings. The fact that their reunion was public, that they were surrounded by an audience of pupils and parents seemed to surprise him. He’d been too wrapped up in the moment, in finally saying the words. He grinned, ignored the crowds, and kissed her. Sliding one arm around her waist, he placed ran the other hand through her hair. The kiss was soft and gentle. She slid her hands around his waist and held him tightly. Someone on the crowded platform took a photograph, someone else cheered; then people began to applaud. When they finally parted, Ginny turned to the crowd, smiled, and curtseyed. Harry self-consciously followed her example, taking a bow. Ignoring the shouts and questions from the crowd he took her hand and they moved towards the magical barrier.

The crowd parted and he led her from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and out into the Muggle station. They walked down into the Underground and Harry bought two tickets to Leicester Square. Ginny’s curiosity finally got the better of her.

‘So, what _are_ we going to do, Harry?’ she asked.

‘I suppose I can tell you,’ Harry smiled. ‘I haven’t even told Ron where I’m taking you. He’s been asking me every day for the past two weeks. I think he suspects that I’ve booked a sleazy hotel somewhere.’

‘That would be fine by me,’ Ginny told him breathlessly, her voice filled with rather more animal lust than she’d intended.

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ laughed Harry, interpreting her remarks as a joke. ‘We’ve never been on a real date, so that’s what we’re doing.’

‘I’m taking you out for a meal, and then we’re going to see a film. I’m sure you’ve never been to the cinema; neither have I. The Dursleys just left me with Arabella Figg whenever they took Dudley, but I’ve seen films on the television. Muggle boys always take their girls to the pictures on a date,’ he explained knowledgably as he led her through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Underground station to the Picadilly Line platform. They arrived just in time to see a train leave, so they passed the next few minutes kissing.

The next train’s arrival was signalled by a distant rumble and a steady increase in the airflow along the platform. As the train drew to a halt, Ginny slipped her arm around her boyfriend’s waist, ‘This is going to be great,’ she told him.

The tube train was packed and they were crushed together in a corner by the door on their short trip to Leicester Square. After leading her up through the station and into a street bustling with Christmas shoppers Harry took Ginny down a side street to a Chinese restaurant, where he had a table booked.

They could have stayed at the restaurant talking all night. It was remarkable how much they found to talk about. Despite the fact that their correspondence meant that there was very little that they hadn’t told each other, they somehow found things to discuss. Harry almost fell off his chair laughing as Ginny described Luna’s antics at the Slug Club Christmas Party. They were having such a good time that they had to run to the cinema in order to catch the start of the film.

* * *

It was after eleven when Harry and Ginny climbed out of the black cab at Grimmauld Place. After paying the cabby Harry watched him drive around the corner. When the coast was clear he took Ginny’s hand, led her up to the front door of number twelve and ushered her inside. Ginny was astonished at how the place had changed.

The hall had been completely redecorated. The walls were painted a light green and the floor was covered in a thick, plain, deep green carpet. The portrait of Walburga Black and the trolls leg had gone from the hall, as had the House-elf heads from the staircase.

‘How?’ Ginny asked as they walked down the bright hall and hung their coats on a large wooden stand next to the kitchen door.

‘I made a deal with Kreacher, “Master Regulus’s room” is now a Black family shrine; everything Black related is in there. The things most important to Kreacher are on display, including the tapestry, and, unfortunately, the mistress’s portrait and the elf-heads—I couldn’t persuade him to get rid of them. I haven’t completely given up yet, but it will take time. At least the rest of the house is mine,’ Harry told her.

‘What about the permanent sticking charms?’ Ginny asked.

‘If “The Master” wants something moved, a house elf can find a way to move it,’ Harry explained cheerfully. ‘Although I’ve been very careful in what I’ve asked for. I’ve stuck with green and white paint and wallpaper in most rooms, Sytherin colours. It wasn’t my first choice, not for the whole house, but it keeps Kreacher happy and it’s a lot better than unremitting black,’ Harry smiled as he spoke. ‘That reminds me, sometime over the holidays you’ll need to visit the Black Family room. I hope that you’ll be impressed, and that you’ll tell Kreacher. I want to keep a contented house-elf.’

He led her upstairs to the first floor sitting room. Music blared through the closed door.

Harry turned the doorknob and pushed, the door silently swung open. The formerly dark and cluttered room was almost empty. Ginny looked around in wonder. It was changed beyond recognition, the floorboards had been sanded clean of their ancient, dark, varnish and re-stained to a pale light oak. The glass fronted cabinets at either side of the fireplace had been given the same treatment as the floor. They now contained photographs of Harry’s friends and family. The walls were a green so pale as to be almost white. The back of a large, modern, white leather sofa faced the door. It was flanked by two matching chairs. No other furniture was visible from the door, although Ginny soon discovered a low glass table between sofa and fireplace. A round glass clock face hung above the fireplace, a black pendulum swinging back and forth beneath it.

‘Wow!’ Ginny said as she stepped into the room. There was a low muffled grunt and a high pitched shriek. Ron’s startled head appeared above the back of the sofa.

‘Harry,’ he squeaked. He hastily stood up, tucking his shirt back inside his trousers.

‘Hi, Hermione,’ Ginny called.

‘Just a second,’ shrilled Hermione, panic obvious in her voice. Ron’s blush spread rapidly from the tips of his ears down to his neck.

‘We weren’t expecting you back yet, Harry,’ Ron accused.

‘That’s obvious,’ Ginny told her brother. Hermione’s head appeared over the back of the sofa, her hair even bushier than usual.

‘Hello,’ she stammered, ‘have you had a good time?’

‘Great!’ Ginny said as she and Harry walked around the sofa to stand in front of the warming fire.

‘You’ve missed a button, Hermione,’ Ginny said, nodding at her friend’s blouse, which was open at the navel. She hoped that she didn’t sound jealous as she watched Hermione hastily fasten herself up.

‘Have you had a good time?’ repeated Hermione, red-faced and completely failing to cover her embarrassment.

‘Harry took me out to a Chinese restaurant, and then we went to the pictures,’ said Ginny happily. ‘We’ve been on a date, to see a film. It was fun.’

‘Great! I’m glad that you enjoyed it,’ Hermione prattled in an obvious attempt to prevent any questions about what she and Ron had been doing.

‘I think I’ve only been to the cinema once since I was eleven,’ Hermione continued almost without pause. ‘What film did you see? Where did you go?’

‘It was called Rush Hour. It was funny and rather violent, in a very silly way.’ Ginny told her friend. ‘Did you manage to do your Christmas shopping, Hermione?’

‘Yes, I only got here a couple of hours ago, it took a lot longer than I expected and the tube journey was a nightmare, but Ron had dinner waiting for me,’ Hermione looked fondly at her boyfriend.

‘Kreacher had dinner waiting for you, more like,’ Ginny snorted. ‘So what have you been doing since you got here?

‘Nothing,’ Hermione squeaked. ‘Just…’ she stopped, flustered.

‘Listening to the wireless,’ supplied Ron, grinning smugly. ‘We were just listening to the radio.’

‘Ronald Weasley,’ shouted Ginny, folding her arms and using her “Molly” voice. ‘Do I have to give you “the talk” again!’

At the sound of his mother’s voice, even coming from his sister Ron leapt backwards and fell onto the sofa.

‘And you, Hermione Granger,’ Ginny switched to the Headmistress’s Scottish brogue. ‘I’m extremely disappointed in you. You are Head Girl, you should know better. What sort of an example are you setting for the younger girls?’

Harry saw Ron’s horrified face, heard Hermione’s panicked protestations and collapsed into a chair in helpless laughter.

‘Sod,’ Ron told his sister.

‘Lothario,’ Ginny retorted.

‘Hardly,’ said Hermione dismissively.

When everyone had stopped laughing, they settled down in the comfortable room and Harry told Ron about their evening. Ginny sat on Harry’s lap. Ron and Hermione sat side by side on the sofa. The first time Ron tried to move closer to Hermione, Ginny loudly cleared her throat and glowered, setting them all laughing again.

Ron asked lots of questions about cinemas, he was having difficulty in grasping the concept. Hermione happily reminisced about the films she’d seen when she was small.

Sitting on his lap, Ginny knew, was a good way to evaluate Harry’s mood. He was completely relaxed. One hand rested lightly on her thigh, his other arm was wrapped around her waist. The first time he had slid that hand under her jumper he’d stammered. He obviously hadn’t expected to discover only bare flesh. Now he simply held her, his hand warm on her belly.

Ginny turned and leaned forward to tell Hermione about the film, about the Muggle who could run up walls. Harry made her stammer in return by moving his hand onto her bare back and running his thumb gently up and down her spine. Ginny could tell that Hermione knew that something was going on. Ron, fortunately, hadn’t noticed what Harry was doing.

The clock chimed midnight. Ginny looked sadly at Harry. He grinned, and slid his arm back down around her waist. ‘How long have we got?’ he asked.

‘Mum said that if I wasn’t home by midnight, she’d come and find me,’ she said. ‘So I’ve got about fifteen minutes. After that it’s a definite scolding. She really will come looking in an hour.’ Ginny looked at her brother, ‘I’ve got until half-past, if you come home with me and tell her we’ve been together since eleven.’

‘We’ll get some hot chocolate from the kitchen,’ suggested Harry. ‘Then you can Floo home. I’ve had the kitchen fire attached to a secure Floo connection. There’s only one destination, The Burrow.’

The two couples walked down to the kitchen to find four freshly made mugs of hot chocolate waiting for them when they entered. Kreacher was nowhere to be seen.

‘Very slick,’ Ron muttered approvingly. Hermione tutted, but gratefully drank the chocolate.

As they stood in front of the fire drinking, Ginny watched as Hermione finally remembered their last “L-word” conversation, which had taken place only hours earlier, at Hogsmeade Station. Hermione looked directly at Ginny, glanced at Harry, and then returned her gaze to Ginny while raising an enquiring eyebrow. Ginny beamed happily and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Ginny then looked from Hermione to Ron and back, and raised her eyebrow. Hermione frowned in realisation, gave her head a hardly noticeable shake and took a step sideways, away from Ron.

‘What just happened?’ asked Ron, panicking.

Harry laughed and shrugged. ‘Girl-talk, but without words,’ he said. ‘Which means we’re not supposed to know, I think.’

‘But…’ Ron began.

‘Mind your own business, Ron,’ Ginny told her brother.

Ron said nothing, but Ginny watched him puzzle over her silent exchange with Hermione’s. He kept glancing at Hermione, too. He had no idea why she had moved away from him, Ginny realised. _Harry said the words, Ron,_ she thought happily, _and Hermione knows that he did, that’s all it takes._

Finally, just before half past midnight, Ron picked up Hermione’s shopping. He took her back to the Burrow, as she wanted to leave some Christmas presents there before Apparating back to her parents’ house. Ginny turned to Harry and smiled.

‘Ron will keep Mum busy for a minute or two,’ she said, stepping up to him. ‘Thanks for a wonderful night, Harry, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He put his hands onto her hips, slid them under her jumper and around to the small of her back.

‘I thought that you were joking, in Hogsmeade, when you told me that next time you wouldn’t wear the vest,’ he told her. His hands slid up her back to her shoulder blades, his fingers gently tracing her spine.

‘I was, at the time,’ she admitted. ‘But I expected to see you before today.’

‘Goodnight, gorgeous Ginny, I hope you sleep well, and that you have pleasant dreams,’ he said. He kissed her lightly on the nose and pulled his head back, grinning.

‘Not good enough,’ Ginny growled, eagerly seeking his lips. She wrapped a leg around his, preventing his escape, and, standing on tiptoe pulled his head towards hers. She felt his hands slide down and round onto her ribs, his thumbs moved up to caress soft flesh. She moved her hands downwards, hastily and violently untucked his shirt, and responded in kind, pressing herself tightly into him. When they finally parted, she gasped.

‘I’ll have some very pleasant dreams,’ she promised. ‘Bye, Harry.’ Taking a pinch of Floo powder she throatily, and reluctantly, murmured, ‘The Burrow,’ before disappearing into the green flames. Harry hastily tucked in his shirt before Ron returned.  
 


	13. Christmas: Revelation

**13: Christmas: Revelation**

Looking at his alarm clock, Ron discovered that it was half past nine; he really should get up.

He had been dreaming of Hermione. She’d been telling him off again. As he chased the dissipating wisps of dream, looking for an explanation, he wasn’t certain that he knew why he was being told off. But he reminded himself, unless she told him, he hardly ever knew why. Fully awake, the final wisps of dreamstuff vanished. Wonderin if he’d managed to figure out the conundrum of Hermione while he’d been sleeping, he blinked up at the ceiling. He was miserable, and the cause of his misery was, as usual, Hermione.

Ron remembered the formal and stilted goodbye and the cursory peck on the cheek his girlfriend had given him before she’d Apparated home from the Burrow. She was annoyed with him, that was certain, but why? _Come on, Ron,_ he cajoled himself, _prove that you’re not as thick as everyone thinks you are._

He thought back over the previous evening.

Hermione had arrived at Grimmauld Place not long after he’d got in from the Auror Office. She’d had a successful shopping expedition and had been tired but happy. After they’d eaten they had gone upstairs to the sitting room and they had got comfortable on the sofa and … had he been to forward? Had he pushed her too far? She’d seemed to be enjoying herself. She’d acted as if she’d been enjoying herself despite his clumsy, fumbling fingers failing to even open a single button.

She’d done that for him, so she must have been willing.

Harry and Ginny had arrived. Thinking about it, it was probably just as well that they hadn’t walked in ten minutes later. Hermione had been embarrassed, but so had he. Then they had settled down and chatted and laughed. She had been fine.

So, he had not done anything to upset her, he was now sure of that. Therefore, by the twisted logic of females (which he suspected he would never fully understand) he had _failed_ to do something she had expected him to do. It was obviously something important to her (and therefore, by default, to him), but what?

The kitchen, he remembered! Something had happened last night between Hermione and Ginny. Up until that silent exchange Hermione had been fine. Afterwards, for some reason, she’d been annoyed with him. He knew that Hermione wouldn’t tell him what had happened. Asking her would just provoke a lecture on how stupid and insensitive he was. He’d have to try to figure it out himself.

Not for the first time, he wondered why girls didn’t come with an instruction book or something. Where had he put that copy of _“Twelve Fail-safe Ways to Charm Witches”_? Not that it would help. Being complimentary and thoughtful was actually fairly easy, when he remembered. Trying to figure out why she was unhappy with him, however, would be a lot more difficult.

What he needed was some sort of mind-reading spell. Unfortunately, the Auror Legilimency course was at least six months away and even if he mastered Legilimency, Hermione wasn’t stupid. She’d recognise what he was trying to do, and that would _definitely_ lead to an argument. Besides without even trying it he could probably guarantee that it wouldn’t work, it would be astonishing if Hermione wasn’t naturally brilliant at Occlumency.

It was always safe to assume that she would be naturally brilliant at everything, because she was. Legilimency wouldn’t work, even if he could actually do it. Why was he even pursuing that line of thought?

‘Bollocks,’ he told his bedroom. He’d never understand girls.

Did Hermione’s mood have something to do with Harry and Ginny’s date? Harry had sworn that they had been to a restaurant, and to the pictures, and nothing else. But it seemed that his girlfriend and his sister were sharing a secret. His mind strayed into an area he didn’t want it to go and he fought to bring it back.

_He’s eighteen, she’s seventeen, they’re together, a couple;_ he reminded himself, _and he’s completely crazy about her. I’ve seen him give lots of Ministry, and other, girls a polite brush off in the last few months. Harry is just not interested in anyone else. I’m living with my sister’s number one fan. If they’re …doing anything… it’s none of my business. But, if they are, why did Hermione ask, and why did Ginny tell her? And, why is Hermione upset with_ me _about it?_ He closed his eyes for a minute, thinking desperately. _Because I’m wrong again and they were talking about something else_ he concluded.

Ron rolled out of bed and hitched up his pyjama trousers. Pulling on his dressing gown he opened his bedroom door. He could hear Harry on the landing above; his friend was whistling cheerfully, but tunelessly. Harry never whistled. Ron grumpily walked along the bathroom, washed and shaved. When he heard Harry clattering down the stairs, his friend was _still_ whistling.

Harry had no right to be so bloody cheerful.

His own toilet complete, Ron dressed quickly. He was still pulling on his t-shirt as he walked down into the kitchen for his breakfast.

‘Morning, Ron,’ Harry beamed. ‘Tea?’

Not waiting for a reply, Harry poured strong tea from the pot into Ron’s large mug then sat back grinning happily. Ron looked at him suspiciously.

‘You’re frighteningly cheerful this morning, Harry,’ he told his friend vindictively. ‘Especially as we’re going to a press conference, a medal presentation, a dinner and ball today.’ He paused and watched Harry’s face carefully. ‘You know that you’ll be praised to the rafters, pestered with questions and constantly photographed.’ Even these observations didn’t dent Harry’s happiness.

‘I’m happy,’ said Harry, stating the obvious. ‘I’m taking your sister to the ball, and I’m going to dance with her. I’ve hardly seen her since we said goodbye at Kings Cross in September so I’m going to make the most of these school holidays. You and Hermione should be doing the same.’ Harry looked at Ron in concern. ‘You look worried, Ron, why? You haven’t dropped me in it, have you? I …forgot… to tell Ginny about Cho. You haven’t said anything, have you?’

‘Forgot?’ asked Ron.

‘Decided not to,’ Harry admitted. ‘We were having a good time, and if I say the name Cho she just gets angry for no reason.’

‘Because she knows you snogged her,’ Ron said.

‘Snogged, past tense,’ Harry shrugged. ‘And “knows”, she wasn’t there. I don’t get mad about Dean ,and I actually saw her snogging him.’

‘I was _there_ , too, remember? I think Ginny’s still got a blind spot where you and Cho are concerned. Though after last night’s performance I reckon you could even get away with snogging Cho under the mistletoe. I’d have to kill you, of course, to protect my sister’s honour.’ As he spoke Ron clenched his fists at the memory of Ginny and Dean. He still didn’t like to think about Krum, either. But Hermione seemed to be fine with Lavender. As for Harry and Cho, well, these days that was simply business.

‘Your sister’s honour is safe,’ Harry said with a laugh. Ron endeavoured to look as though that information wasn’t important to him. That line of questioning had got him nowhere. At least, no closer to the answer he wanted. He tried a different tack.

‘I dunno what you did last night, mate.’ He chose his words carefully. ‘But Ginny was almost soppy when she got home and she’s _never_ soppy.’ He pitched his voice as high as he could, ‘It was all “Harry took me out for a meal, and to see a Muggle film. We had a great evening. I had a wonderful time, Mum.” She was pretty nauseating. What did you really do last night? Or don’t I want to know?’

‘We told you last night, we just ate, talked, and went to the pictures.’ Harry grinned.

‘No,’ said Ron, thoughtfully. ‘There was something else, what?’

‘Nothing,’ Harry assured him. Ron looked sceptical and shook his head.

‘That look between the girls last night,’ said Ron. ‘That wasn’t about nothing.’

‘Are you still obsessing about that?’ Harry asked dismissively. ‘I don’t know what _that_ was about, honest Ron. I’m sure it doesn’t matter.’

Ron stared in annoyance at his friend, who simply looked confused. Ron continued to glare at Harry until he saw realisation strike. Harry gave an embarrassed grin, blushed, and looked down at his feet. ‘I think I can guess, but... It’s nothing, really, Ron. Don’t worry about it.’ Harry had figured it out.

‘What happened?’ Ron pressed his friend for an answer.

‘Nothing, I told you.’

‘What sort of “nothing” was it?’ Ron felt his temper rising and fought to control it.

Harry looked away from Ron and began staring intently at his shoes. Despite this, Ron could see his friend’s face beginning to colour. ‘I … told Ginny … how … I … feel about her,’ he confessed. ‘I told her that…’

‘That’s none of my business,’ interrupted Ron hastily, as he suddenly realised what Harry was about to say. ‘Personal conversation … feelings… nothing to do with me, mate. You’re right, I’m sorry I asked.’

Harry lapsed into a grateful silence, while Ron felt himself blushing in sympathy. He thought back over the past few hectic months and then realised that he couldn’t drop the topic completely. ‘You already did … that … after the Slytherin match, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but she was unconscious at the time, Ron,’ Harry admitted.

Suddenly, the odd, silent, exchange between Ginny and Hermione last night made sense to Ron. But why had Hermione been so funny about it? He’d told her loads of times how he felt about her. He thought back to the last time he’d told his girlfriend that he loved her.

He couldn’t remember. He tried to think of any occasion when she said the words to him. She hadn’t, ever! Harry, he realised, was watching him in silent concern.

Ron was horrified! Perhaps she was having second thoughts? She was, after all, the cleverest and most beautiful girl in the school, probably in the world. He was constantly amazed that she was going out with him and constantly worried that some other bloke would try to steal her from him. He _must_ have told her that he loved her, but when? Why was he so stupid?

He’d told her while they were at school, when he was with Lavender. He’d meant it then, too, but he’d been too stupid to realise it, so that didn’t count. In Australia, he remembered. More than six months ago. That didn’t count either, she’d been too upset, so had he. It had been a “heat of the moment” confession a couple of days after the battle, and she’d been thinking only about her parents. There must have been an occasion since then? He thought hard, but couldn’t remember ever saying those words. Not when they’d been on holiday with Hermione’s parents. That would have been much too embarrassing. Not even when she was made Head Girl, because that would have been in front of _his_ family.

Once, he finally remembered, during the summer, over the phone, and he wasn’t certain that she’d heard him, she hadn’t said it back to him, so he’d made a joke of it. But her Dad had probably been standing next to her at the time so she probably wouldn’t have said anything. She’d probably been waiting for him to say the words ever since then. He looked at his friend.

‘You all right, Ron?’ Harry asked, concerned.

‘I think I’ve upset Hermione, without meaning to,’ he confessed.

To Ron’s horror, Harry simply burst out laughing. ‘No offence, mate, but that pretty much sums up the relationship you two have had since the day you first met,’ he said.

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ muttered Ron darkly. He wasn’t laughing.

Harry pulled out his watched and glanced anxiously at it.

‘I really need to go, Ron. I need to meet Cho in Diagon Alley before I go to the Burrow. Are you going to be all right?’ Harry stood up from the table. ‘Just go to the Granger’s house early, talk to her,’ he suggested. ‘She doesn’t bite.’

_She did last night just before you and Ginny walked in on us,_ Ron thought, rubbing his neck and smiling to himself. _So she must fancy me, I hope,_ he tried to reassure himself.

‘See you this afternoon, mate! Ron Weasley, Order of Merlin, First Class, eh?’ Harry waved as he left.

* * *

It was almost noon when Ron Apparated to the now familiar field on the outskirts of the village of Itchen Worthy. Slipping through the gate onto the road he walked the last half mile to Hermione’s parent’s large red-brick house. He was wrapped up warmly, because the chill December wind was blowing a few feeble flakes of snow.

In one hand Ron carried a large holdall containing his suit. The other hand was stuffed deep into the pocket of his duffel coat. The hand carrying the holdall was freezing, because he’d forgotten to bring his gloves.

He crunched up the gravel drive towards the front door. It didn’t open as he approached. That meant that Hermione wasn’t watching, wasn’t waiting for him, and that probably meant that she was still annoyed with him. He reached out, rang the bell, and waited. She didn’t even answer the door, her father did. Ron’s stomach lurched, things were looking very bad. He forced his face into a smile and gave Mr Granger what he hoped was a cheery ‘Good morning’ as he stepped into the large hallway.

‘Come in, Ron,’ Hermione’s father smiled, ‘Hermione and her Mum are upstairs, trying to sort out Hermione’s hair.’ He unconsciously ran his fingers through his own short, untidy, curls. Ron stepped inside and looked for somewhere to put his bag.

‘Just leave it there, Ron,’ Mr Granger said, motioning to a spot next to the hall table. ‘Come through to the kitchen, I’ve just made a pot of tea. You can tell me what’s happening this afternoon and this evening.’

‘Hasn’t Hermione explained?’ Ron asked curiously.

Mr Granger nodded, smiled, and lowered his voice, ‘Jean and I have received the lecture, but I’d like to hear your version.’

Ron was still rather nervous around Mr and Mrs Granger. They had not met under the best of circumstances and he was always wary of offending them, but they had got to know each other during a two week holiday in France over the summer and Mr Granger’s words invited a comment.

‘Hermione sometimes manages to make things sound a lot more complicated than they really are,’ Ron tried experimentally.

Mr Granger smiled and nodded.

‘It’s a medal presentation followed by a ball,’ Ron told him. ‘It seems like an odd combination to me, but the ball was arranged months ago and it’s taken this long for the Wizengamot to finally agree on the medals.’

‘Hermione said that, too, do you know why?’ Mr Granger looked towards one corner of the kitchen ceiling, towards his daughter’s bedroom, as he spoke. ‘I think Hermione might have told us, a long time ago, but I’ve forgotten the details.’

‘Harry, mostly,’ said Ron. ‘They wanted to give him a medal within days of the battle, him and a few others. Harry didn’t like the idea, so the Wizengamot formed a committee of enquiry. The committee produced a list of people they thought deserved medals, and sent it to Kingsley. He showed the list to Harry, who still didn’t like it. The committee weren’t happy with Harry and they refused to change their recommendations. Harry told them—fine, but if that was the case, he he wasn’t prepared to attend the medal presentation ceremony. They eventually realised that they couldn’t really have a medal presentation to commemorate the Battle without the star of the show, so they went away, formed another committee and had another go. They didn’t get Harry’s agreement until early November. Professor McGonagall refused to let the any of the students out of school, and Harry refused to attend without Ginny, so today is the earliest date for the presentations.’

‘That was a lot shorter than what I remember of Hermione’s explanation,’ her father smiled ruefully. Ron grinned and suppressed a chuckle.

‘The medal ceremony is this afternoon,’ Ron continued. ‘This evening there is a separate dinner and ball, but both are at the Mages Hall.’

‘Hermione said it’s at the London Guildhall,’ Mr Granger said.

‘It’s the same place,’ Ron told him. ‘The old Guild of Witches and Wizards helped build the original London Guildhall in the twelfth century. They ever got a couple of giants in to help with the construction. They also helped with the rebuild in the fifteenth century; that’s why the hall survived the Great Dragon Fire.’

‘The Great Dragon Fire?’ Mr Granger asked.

‘Oh, yeah, I forget, the Muggles blamed it on some bakery or something, didn’t they?’

‘Hmm,’ For once, Mr Granger appeared to be lost for words. Ron pressed on with his explanation.

‘The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy went into effect not long after the fire, and the Guild of Witches and Wizards eventually became the Ministry of Magic, but the Wizarding Community still has access to the hall for special occasions. It’s the only place where wizards and Muggles meet for public functions, though that hasn’t happened for a lot of years. The wizards will arrive by Floo and you’re taking us by car.’

‘Thanks, Ron, that clears everything up,’ said Hermione’s father. He hesitated, ‘Except … is everything all right between you and my daughter?’

‘I hope so,’ said Ron, he looked sadly at his girlfriend’s father. ‘I’ve managed to upset her by not doing … something … that I didn’t realise that I hadn’t done but I should have done.’ Ron stopped. He’d almost managed to confuse himself with that sentence. ‘Did that make any sense?’ he asked.

‘Almost, she expected you to do something, but you didn’t because she hadn’t asked you?’ queried Mr Granger. Ron thought it best to nod. He didn’t really want to discuss the details of this particular topic with Hermione’s father.

‘Oh, well, if it’s any consolation I’ve been married for twenty three years and I still make that mistake with Hermione’s mother. It would help if she said “Put your golf clubs away,” instead of sulking because I’ve left them in the hall.’

_It’s worse than golf clubs,_ thought Ron, but he found some comfort in Mr Granger’s words. There was a noisy clatter from the hall as someone descended the stairs. The kitchen door flew open and Hermione dashed in.

‘We’re not going,’ she told her father. ‘I can’t do anything with it!’ she flicked her damp hair contemptuously.

‘Hello, Hermione,’ Ron said. Hermione ignored him.

‘It’s hopeless,’ she continued, ignoring Ron and glowering at her father. ‘I’m going to get it cut short.’

‘No,’ said Ron in horror. ‘Don’t do that. It’s beautiful, you’re beautiful just as you are.’

Hermione’s mother was directly behind her daughter and an uncomfortable silence fell across the kitchen. Ron felt himself blushing.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Ron,’ Hermione snapped.

‘Ridiculous!’ replied Ron, his temper began to take over and he forgot his embarrassment. ‘I’m not the one being ridiculous, you are! I just complimented you. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you like being told you’re … beautiful?’

‘Not when it isn’t true,’ Hermione snapped. She raised an admonishing finger and Ron recognised the signs of an upcoming explosion. He knew that decisive action was needed. Unfortunately his new favourite method of shutting her up—kissing her—probably wasn’t the best thing to do this time.

‘I think that we need to have a private talk, Hermione,’ Ron ordered. ‘Will you excuse us for a few minutes?’ He asked her parents. Mr Granger gave a startled nod. Ron grabbed Hermione’s hand and dragged her out into the hall. She protested every step of the way.

‘Why did you leave your bag there, you idiot,’ she squawked.

‘Because I told him to,’ her father called from the kitchen. Hermione was momentarily silenced.

‘What…’ Hermione’s mother began as Hermione tried to break Ron’s grip on her arm.

‘Leave them to it,’ her father told his wife. ‘Hermione’s in one of her moods.’

‘I am not!’

‘Oh yes you are!’ Ron told his girlfriend as he tried to drag her upstairs towards her bedroom. The moment he spoke those words the tables turned and Ron found himself being pulled rapidly up the stairs.

Hermione pushed him into her room, slammed the door and rounded on him. They were alone. Suddenly Ron felt calm and in control, he knew the reasons for Hermione’s anxieties and annoyance.

‘You arrogant, ignorant, arse,’ Hermione squealed. ‘How dare you be so rude to me, in my own house, in front of my parents. You insensitive, stupid, lanky, cretinous…’

Ron’s happy smile stopped her in midsentence. He knew that he could rely on the fact that her parents had banned the use of magic within their home to keep him safe.

‘You…’ she tried again, but his lack of fear, lack of protest was flustering her. She was expecting him to fight back, to make excuses, but this time he didn’t need to. Because for once, he was right and she was wrong.

‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘Not me, you … how, exactly, have I insulted you? You’re the only person I know who could get angry when someone tells you that you’re beautiful. And you are; you really are extraordinarily beautiful, and clever, and worried about the presentation today, and really angry with me for some reason. But it doesn’t matter, because I still love you.’

Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out. Ron savoured the moment, savoured the silence.

‘I like your hair the way it is, Hermione. But if you want to change it, just tie it back like you did for the funerals in the summer,’ he advised. ‘I thought you looked good with your hair like that, and you do want to look good for your boyfriend, don’t you?’

Hermione still didn’t speak. Ron watched the fury fade from her face. It was replaced by annoyance, confusion and wonder.

‘You’re nervous, this presentation is a big occasion for us and you’re treating it like it’s an exam. I recognise the signs. I’ve seen your exam nerves often enough, Hermione. You need to relax.’

‘What did you just say, Ron,’ Hermione asked in a small voice. He knew exactly what she was asking, but chose to misunderstand.

‘I like your hair, don’t get it cut,’ he began. ‘Don’t worry about the medal presentation and I think that you’re beautiful and very clever. Was there something else?’

Her face fell.

‘Oh,’ he pretended to remember, ‘I told you something else, but you didn’t seem to hear it. I told you that I love you.’ He tried to keep the words flat and factual, and he watched her carefully.

She knew then that he’d been teasing her; she was standing on the fulcrum, balanced between running into his arms and shouting at him. Harry’s words at breakfast came back to him. The conflict Hermione was now facing pretty much summed up their relationship, too. He grinned, Hermione saw his smile and the balance was tipping towards an angry lecture.

‘You…you…’ she began, searching for an insult.

‘Me,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘The arrogant, ignorant, lanky, stupid, insensitive arse who loves you.’

‘You forgot cretinous,’ she scolded. Then, suddenly, she was in his arms.

They had kissed before and hugged and fondled, and last night, bitten, too. But this was somehow different. Ron was startled by the joy he felt. He was more than a head taller than she was. She was on tiptoe, and swaying slightly. She had slipped her arms around his waist. He placed one arm around her back, his hand on her shoulder, pulling her close. The other he slipped down to her left buttock, lifting her, steadying her and supporting her tiptoed stance.

Her lips sought his. The moment he parted his lips, her tongue forced its way into his mouth. She sniffed; she was crying. That realisation brought tears to his eyes, too. They stayed locked together, for as long as they could, Ron began to feel dizzy but he was determined that he would not be the one to finish the kiss.

Eventually Hermione released him. He bent, lowered her heels to the ground, gently kissed the tip of her nose before straightening his back. He then stepped back, grinned and handed Hermione his handkerchief.

‘It’s clean,’ he said.

‘There’s no need to look so smug,’ she told him.

‘Oh, I think that there is.’

‘You’re insufferable sometimes, Ron.’

‘Only sometimes?’ he asked. She slapped his arm.

‘Most of the time.’

‘But you still love me.’

‘Says who?’ she replied.

His face fell. He’d said the words several times now, but she never had. Suddenly devastated and feeling sick to his stomach he didn’t know what to do, or what to say. The silence stretched, and his world began to crumble.

‘Merlin, Ron, I’m sorry,’ she shrieked. ‘I was joking, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t think.’

He stopped in her doorway and turned back to look at her. Her face was ashen and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

‘Sorry, that was spiteful of me. Please, don’t go. I … I love you, too, Ron,’ she told him.

He looked at her with a mix of anger and sadness.

‘The next time I call you an insensitive prat, remind me about today,’ she suggested.

He grinned, ‘At least I’m not the only idiot in this room. We put each other through it, don’t we?’

Hermione nodded and opened her arms to him. He stepped forwards to kiss her.

‘Hermione, Ron,’ Mrs Granger shouted from downstairs. ‘I’ve made lunch. We need to get ready to leave soon.’


	14. Christmas: Elucidation

**14\. Christmas: Elucidation**

After saying goodbye to Cho and her grandfather, Harry hurried along Diagon Alley. Ignoring the stares, shouts and pointing fingers, he tucked the parcel Cho’s grandfather had given him into the bag containing his suit and made his way to the Leaky Cauldron.

When he Apparated to the orchard above The Burrow, the chill December wind was gusting wildly. His overcoat flapped and slapped against his legs as he walked down the hill to his girlfriend’s home. Harry was early, but he needed to be; he needed to talk to Ginny and he was unsure how she would react. Fortunately, Molly would be there too. Reaching the kitchen door, Harry opened it and stepped into the warm and welcoming room with a nervous, ‘Hello.’

‘Hi, Harry, I wasn’t expecting you for another hour,’ said Ginny. Springing from her seat at the kitchen table she strode up to him, beaming. Throwing her arms over his shoulders, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him warmly. Molly Weasley smiled indulgently at them.

Despite the warmth of Ginny’s welcome, he remained worried; mid kiss, she noticed. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, releasing him and taking a step back.

‘Nothing,’ said Harry. ‘Well, er, I’ve brought something for you, and I need to talk to you about … something else.’

Harry placed his suit bag on the kitchen table, unzipped it, and pulled out the box he’d just collected. It was about nine inches square, an inch deep, and wrapped in plain brown paper. He showed it to Ginny, watching her reaction: she stared at him accusingly. Molly said nothing, but she was watching carefully.

‘Before you say anything,’ Harry told his girlfriend. ‘Let me explain, please.’

Ginny, like Ron, did not like to receive expensive gifts and, as the contents of the box were very expensive, Harry knew that he needed to choose his words carefully. He’d planned this, but the words he’d rehearsed had been Vanished from his head.

Ginny folded her arms and gave him her best “Molly” glare. In itself, that wasn’t worrying. While she could silence her brothers with that look, but it didn’t work, not on him. She had tried it several times over the summer, and he’d discovered that he could ignore it, though not always safely. He smiled. That annoyed her, but that didn’t concern him, either. In the summer he had also realised that teasing Ginny was playing with fire: exciting, dangerous, and occasionally very hot.

‘You made me promise not to spend any more than twenty-five Galleons on any present for you,’ he began.

Molly looked quizzically at her daughter, who acknowledged the truth of Harry’s words with the merest tilt of her head.

‘So I haven’t,’ Harry continued, desperately trying to rediscover the argument he’d mislaid. He needed to be careful; he could not allow himself to be distracted. Fortunately, Ginny was curious enough about the contents of the box to remain silent.

‘This didn’t cost me anything.’ He lifted the parcel. ‘And anyway I’m not giving it to you as a present. It’s mine, but I thought that you might like to borrow it.’

He handed Ginny the parcel, watching her face carefully. She obviously wanted to find out what was inside the plain brown wrappings. She examined the parcel curiously. It was a box, that was obvious, but she could not determine anything else from simply holding it. Frowning, she unfastened the cheap string and carefully unfolded the paper. The box inside was the same bright red as the wrapping paper. There was a name embossed in ornate gold writing on the lid.

‘Wen Chang’s Jewellers,’ Ginny read the name aloud. ‘Chang?’ she enquired. Her eyebrows attempted to meet each other above her nose in their effort to show disapproval.

‘Cho’s grandfather,’ Harry told her. ‘He’s been running a jewellers shop in Diagon Alley for years.’

‘Arthur bought my engagement ring there,’ interjected Molly, completely failing to hide the hope in her voice.

Trying to disguise her actions from her mother, Ginny looked into Harry’s eyes. Without words, she demanded an answer. The box was a little over an inch deep, but it was much too large for a ring. Nevertheless, Harry, startled by Molly’s observation, shook his head in panic. Ginny looked relieved. Harry was unsure whether he should be pleased or disappointed by her reaction.

Ginny turned her back on her mother, and winked at him. She then carefully opened the box, peered inside, gasped, and let the lid fall closed.

‘What?’ she began.

‘Cho told me about it at the Hog’s Head, at the DA party,’ Harry tried to explain. ‘That’s what we were talking about. I didn’t understand what she was saying at first. She assumed that I’d know who her grandfather was, what he did for a living. Her grandfather asked her to speak to me, because he knew that she—knew—me.’

‘Snogged you,’ corrected Ginny sharply.

‘That was years ago, Ginny,’ Harry reminded her, troubled by her reaction. ‘It was before… before… us! You’ve kissed a couple of boys since then, and I don’t get annoyed when you talk about them. I didn’t even say anything when you wrote and told me that your ex-boyfriend had invited both you and Hermione to Hogsmeade in October, even though that letter arrived minutes before Ron and I went on the raids.’

He watched Ginny’s face fall. In all his letters to her, he’d never mentioned the worry that particular letter had caused. Not wanting to appear jealous, he’d hidden the hurt from her. Even as he spoke, he knew that his words had been a mistake. Her eyes blazed with sorrow, hurt, and fury.

‘You did what, Ginny?’ asked Molly sharply. Ginny made an apologetic acknowledgement of her guilt to her mother and then rounded on Harry, her eyes scorching displeasure.

‘We need to talk, Harry. Right now! In private!’ she said forcefully. ‘Follow me.’

Ginny picked up the box and dashed upstairs to her bedroom door. Harry stood still and silent in the kitchen, uncertain what to do. He glanced at Molly Weasley for guidance.

‘You do NOT need my mother’s approval to come into my bedroom, Harry!’ shouted Ginny from the top of the stairs.

With the barest flick of her eyes, Molly indicated to Harry that he should go. He raced up the stairs and entered Ginny’s bright and cheerful bedroom. Ginny was standing in front of the window, and she was fuming.

‘Close the door, Harry,’ Ginny ordered. He did as he was told. When he turned, Ginny indicated with a glare that he should not approach her.

‘What?’ he began.

Ginny spoke her first words, ‘Shut up and listen, Harry,’ through clenched teeth. Forcing herself to calm down, she exhaled her anger in a sibilant sigh of exasperation. ‘I’m sorry about mentioning Dean. You’re right, that was wrong of me. But I was trying to make Ron jealous, not you. I don’t think of Dean like that. I haven’t for ages I don’t think of Dean at all, really. In fact, I never even considered the possibility that you might think I still fancied him. I’m really, truly sorry about that. I told you at Hogsmeade that I was _not_ interested in him, so there was no reason for you to be jealous. Okay?’

Harry nodded. ‘Okay. I knew that, or hoped, but…’ he began.

‘That’s not why I wanted to talk to you alone,’ she interrupted him. ‘Sometimes, Harry, you’re a complete idiot. Never, ever, do that again.’

‘Do what?’ asked Harry, confused.

‘Drop me in it in front of Mum! You’ve been brooding about Dean—don’t deny it. But… If you think I’ve done something stupid, if I’ve hurt you, or annoyed, you, don’t bottle in up. You’d tell Ron, or Hermione, what you think. Tell me, too, but don’t tell everyone. Tell me! If Ron did something stupid, you would cover for him. You wouldn’t drop him in it with Mum. So why the hell did you…’

Suddenly understanding Ginny’s anger, Harry interrupted.

‘I’m sorry, Ginny, that _was_ wrong of me. But you were—unreasonable—about Cho at the DA reunion and I thought that you would be annoyed about me seeing her today.’ Harry realised that he needed to tell her everything, and ride out any storm. Still, he hesitated before continuing. ‘I’ve seen Cho a few times while you’ve been at school and I didn’t want a scene today. I thought that if your mum was…’

‘I don’t want a scene either, Harry. That’s why we’re here, and not in the kitchen. You’ve seen Cho “a few times?” How many is a few? When? And why didn’t you tell me?’ demanded Ginny.

‘Three times, twice at her grandfather’s shop, and once at Grimmauld Place.’ Harry tried to explain. ‘Cho’s mum is an interior designer, she organised the redecoration of the house for me. I was going to tell you yesterday, but…’

Ginny frowned and waved him into silence.

‘Yesterday, at King’s Cross and afterwards, you meant what you said, didn’t you?’ she asked.

‘Yes, of course, I did!’ Harry protested, ‘I don’t want to argue about Cho, or Dean or anything. I do love you, I’m just—am I making a mess of things again?’

‘I love you too, Harry. This is stupid! Why are we arguing?’ Ginny paused and stared into his face. ‘This is all because of what happened at the DA reunion, isn’t it? I _was_ a little bit jealous of Cho, Harry. But after all of our letters, and after yesterday, you can’t possibly think that I’m still jealous of her, can you?’

Harry said nothing. He should have told her the previous day, he realised. He was useless at this sort of thing. He wished that there was someone—anyone—he could turn to for advice. 

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything yesterday because I wanted a perfect evening. I didn’t want to say anything that might upset you,’ he apologised.

‘Tell me about Cho, please,’ said Ginny quietly.

‘She told me about _that_ at the DA reunion.’ Harry pointed to the box which Ginny still held. He lifted his head and honestly met her fierce gaze. ‘I knew about Cho’s mum’s business, she’d been recommended to me by Kingsley. I was going to tell you at the party, but you were acting—oddly and I wasn’t sure what was happening between us.’

‘I know,’ Ginny admitted. ‘I was ... confused too. Go on.’

‘You went outside to talk to Romilda soon after Cho arrived, that’s when she told me about that.’ He again indicated the box. ‘And I asked her about the possibility of getting her mum to redecorate Grimmauld Place. That’s what we were doing when you came back into the pub and—well—you know. And then, later, when you told me that you were jealous of Cho—outside the school—I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to upset you, so I didn’t tell you what Cho and I had been talking about. I should have, shouldn’t I?’

‘Yes, but I can understand why you didn’t,’ Ginny said. ‘I wanted to know, but I didn’t ask, because we were both on edge, like we are now. This is stupid, Harry. You should have told me, or I should have asked. We agreed in the summer, no secrets. Ron knew about Cho, didn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Harry admitted. ‘Cho brought her mum to Grimmauld Place, to look around, to give me a quote for the decorating, and I saw her once at her grandfather’s shop. Until today, those were the only times I’ve seen her. She’s got her own job, in Muggle Relations, and she has a new boyfriend, he’s a Muggle,’ Harry paused. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Ginny. But I was worried how you would react.’

‘I’d have reacted the way I reacted downstairs, but sooner,’ Ginny smiled. ‘All you did was delay things. Why don’t you should treat me the way you treat Ron and Hermione, tell me what you would tell them, tell me everything?’ Ginny suggested.

‘Because I argue with them, and I don’t want to argue with you. I don’t tell them everything, Ginny,’ he replied. ‘I never really talked to Ron about Cho. I’ve never really talked to anyone about … girls, because… I haven’t…’ He couldn’t ask Ginny’s father, or her brothers. It was times like this that he needed Sirius, or Remus, or even Tonks.’

‘You haven’t got anyone to talk to,’ Ginny realised. ‘Who could you ask for advice about girls? Ron? Asking him for advice about any girl would be worse than useless, and asking about his sister! Who else could you ask? My dad? My other brothers?’ She looked at him with sorrowful understanding. Her eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. ‘Nev would be better! No, I know; you can ask me. No one can give you better advice on how to deal with your girlfriend than me.’ Harry grinned.

‘Cho was a long time ago, Ginny,’ he told her. ‘It was a different world. I honestly don’t know what I saw in her. I mean, she’s quite good looking, I suppose, but these days whenever I see her all it does is remind me that—that she’s not you.’

Ginny gazed into his eyes. She stood in front of her window, her hair shining and her figure silhouetted in the sunlight. She had a strong, determined expression on her face, and she nodded. She understood, and she seemed to be pleased with his words. He already knew that he could rely on her in the same way he could rely on Ron and Hermione, but she was so much more than that.

When they were apart, he missed her, but not in the “they aren’t around” way he missed Ron and Hermione. It was like part of him was missing. It had been that way ever since Dumbledore’s funeral. It hadn’t been an absence; it had been an abscess, a painful gaping hole. Without her, he wasn’t whole. Should he tell her? Could he tell her? He had no idea whether these feelings were normal. He needed to say something more, he realised.

‘You asked why I don’t treat you like Ron and Hermione. It’s because you’re _not_ Ron, or Hermione, you’re different.’

‘How am I different?’ Ginny asked.

‘Well, to be honest, I’ve never had an overwhelming urge to snog either of them,’ he admitted.

Ginny laughed.

‘We had a great time last night, didn’t we?’ Ginny’s eyes sparkled as she asked the question. Harry nodded.

‘Especially after Ron and Hermione left,’ he said.

‘Dean’s not _you_ , either, Harry. And Michael certainly isn’t. No more worrying about the ex’s okay?’ she suggested, lowering her voice until it was as deep and brown as her eyes. She put the jewellery box on her dressing table and walked rapidly towards him. He caught her in his arms and pulled her close.

‘The last time you and I were alone in this room was on my seventeenth birthday,’ he reminded her. ‘The memory of those few moments helped me survive last year.’

‘And this time, Ron isn’t here to interrupt us,’ said Ginny, pulling him rapidly towards her bed while sliding her hands inside his shirt. Harry reciprocated. Ginny tumbled backwards onto the bed, dragging him down on top of her. As their lips met, her hands slid up his back.

After several minutes of frenzied and frantic fumbling, they were interrupted.

‘Ginny! Harry! If you don’t come downstairs right now, I will come up there!’ Molly Weasley bellowed from the bottom of the stairs.

Ginny, who by this point was on top of Harry, pulled her face free of his and shouted, ‘We’ll be down in a minute, Mum.’

Harry rolled off the bed and hastily buttoned up his shirt while Ginny made the essential adjustments to her bra and t-shirt. They grinned at each other and tried to catch their breath.

‘Next time, we’ll have to find a way to magically keep a fake conversation going. It’s the silence that makes Mum suspicious,’ Ginny said.

Harry smiled happily in agreement.

‘You still haven’t told me about this,’ Ginny reminded him, lifting the almost forgotten box from her bedside table.

‘It’s mine, sort of,’ Harry said. ‘I didn’t pay for it, my dad did. He commissioned it for my mum. It was going to be her present for Christmas ‘81; he paid for it in advance.’ He stopped, not needing to continue. Ginny recognised the significance of that year. Harry’s parents had been murdered less than two months before Christmas.

‘Let’s go down and see Mum,’ Ginny suggested. ‘We are friends again, aren’t we?’

‘We’re a lot more than friends, I hope,’ said Harry with feeling. He reached forwards with a hopeful hand. They kissed briefly then walked downstairs, hand in hand.

Once in the kitchen, Harry placed the box on the table. He reached inside, carefully lifted out the contents, an ornate Celtic-style silver torc, and handed it to Ginny. He watched as she examined it carefully. The heavy neck-ring was made from dozens of intricately plaited silver wires and each fine wire was engraved with an elaborate pattern of lilies. The torc ended not with the more traditional Celtic dragons, but with a pair of lioness heads. Each intricately crafted silver head had emeralds for eyes.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Molly observed breathlessly.

‘Mr Chang has had it since my parents died,’ Harry explained. ‘He didn’t know what to do with it. He couldn’t give it to me, because until I was eleven, no one knew where I was. He could have sold it to someone else and taken the profit I suppose, but he didn’t. He decided to keep it until I came of age. He had to keep it for some time after that, of course,’ Harry said. ‘He tried to contact me after the Battle, but I didn’t get his letters.’

‘Why ever not?’ Molly asked.

‘Because of all the people who try to send me stuff. I gave the Ministry permission to intercept every letter and parcel addressed to Harry Potter, unless it has my full address, which very few people have. They check everything.’ Harry explained.

‘I get presents, love potions, curses, begging letters and love letters. Kingsley told me that it’s a full time job sorting the stuff out. The Ministry destroy the love potions. We, the Auror Office, try to track down the people sending curses and cursed items. We’ve caught a couple of former Snatchers that way.’

‘You poor dear,’ said Molly.

‘I get presents too. I’ve told the Ministry to send any presents to the Society for the Assistance of Muggle-borns. Very little of the mail gets forwarded to me. It looks like the Ministry discarded Mr Chang’s letters, they probably thought that it was some sort of confidence trick. When he didn’t get a reply, Mr Chang asked Cho to tell me,’ Harry told her. He turned to Ginny. ‘That’s why Cho was so late for the DA reunion.’

‘It’s lovely,’ said Ginny, staring at the torc.

‘Mr Chang calls it “The Lioness of Gryffindor”, because…’

‘Because it was made for your mother, a green-eyed Gryffindor lioness,’ Ginny interrupted.

Harry nodded. ‘It would have meant a lot to my mum, I expect, but she never even saw it. I suppose that you could call it a family heirloom, except it’s new and unworn. I’d look pretty stupid wearing it, but it should fit you. I—sort of—measured your neck during the Hogsmeade visit.’

‘Outside the school gates,’ said Ginny, remembering the odd way Harry had encircled her neck with his hands those months ago. She passed the torc to her mother, who handled it with cautious reverence.

‘The emeralds match your eyes perfectly, Harry,’ Molly observed as she took the torc.

‘They match my mother’s. I thought that you might like to wear it to the ball, Ginny. It’s not an…’ he stopped, uncertain how to continue. Ginny exchanged a glance with her mother, who went to put the kettle on the stove, deliberately turning her back on the young couple. Ginny stepped forward, stood on tiptoe and held onto Harry’s shoulders.

‘It’s not an engagement ring, because it’s much too soon for anything like that,’ Ginny whispered in his ear. ‘But it’s something of yours for me to wear. Thank you.’ She stepped back and smiled.

I’d be honoured to wear it, Harry,’ she spoke loudly enough for her mother to hear. ‘But the torc is yours, right? It’s not a gift. You will take it back afterwards and keep it safe.’

‘Safe for the future,’ Harry told her seriously. ‘For my daughter, if I have one.’

‘Or your wife,’ suggested Molly from the stove, straight-faced.

Ginny glared at her mother.

‘Or my wife,’ Harry agreed with a smile.

‘You still haven’t shown me the dress robes you’re going to be wearing today, Ginny,’ said Molly as she levitated the teapot and three mugs onto the table. She looked at the suit bag Harry was lifting out of his bag and recognised it for what it was.

‘Harry, you’re not thinking of wearing a Muggle suit to the Presentation and Ball, are you? You _must_ wear dress robes, it’s traditional,’ said Molly.

Harry and Ginny exchanged worried glances which Molly didn’t miss.

‘You’re up to something, aren’t you? I should have known! What are you planning now?’ Molly asked, folding her arms in preparation for an argument.

‘It was Katie Bell’s idea,’ said Ginny quickly. ‘She’s Muggle-born, you know. She went into hiding last year and worked with the resistance, with Kingsley and everyone. She should have been a professional Quidditch player. She was signed up by Puddlemere when she left school, but she had to go on the run. She’s working in Diagon Alley, in what was Mr Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, she’s running a charity to help Muggle-borns who lost everything last year.’

‘The Society for the Assistance of Muggle-borns,’ Harry interjected. ‘I’m the Patron, Mrs Weasley.’

‘They’re the people you’re sending your unwanted gifts to,’ observed Molly. Harry nodded.

‘She asked us all…’ Ginny continued.

‘…everybody in the DA…’ Harry clarified.

‘…to wear Muggle clothes to the Medal ceremony and the Ball.’ Ginny continued

‘So, we are,’ said Harry, with a finality which would brook no argument. Molly unfolded her arms.

‘Everyone?’ Molly asked.

‘Everyone who was in Dumbledore’s Army the year we formed, and who fought in the Battle, that’s twenty-five of us. Katie wrote and asked us all if we’d do it, and everyone said yes. She wants to get people talking about her charity.’ Harry explained.

‘She’ll succeed,’ Molly observed. ‘She sounds like a clever young woman. So, does Ron have…’

‘I took Ron, Neville and Terry out to buy suits last week. It was a nightmare,’ said Harry. ‘Terry’s mum was Muggle-born, so he wasn’t too bad, but Ron and Neville!’ Harry shook his head. Ginny, who’d been told of the trip to the clothes shop, sniggered. Molly, however, was not smiling.

‘I’m disappointed in you both,’ said Molly seriously. ‘You’re adults, so you can do as you please, but I do wish that you’d stop keeping secrets from us, both of you. Arthur will be home, soon. I’m sure that, like me, he’ll think that what you’re doing is a wonderful gesture.’ Molly looked rather sorrowful and Harry felt a rush of shame. ‘But really, Harry, and you too, Ginny, you should tell us these things. We don’t say no to everything, you know, we’re not ogres.’

Harry was crestfallen.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Weasley,’ he said. ‘I suppose that I’m so used to making plans in secret that I forget that I don’t need to do it all the time.’

Molly smiled and pulled him into a hug. ‘That’s all right, dear, you’re trying your best, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘I’m sure that you’ll both look lovely.’

‘So you won’t have a problem with me wearing a Muggle dress?’ Ginny asked quickly.

‘Of course not, Ginny,’ Molly told her daughter. Harry, who’d been sent a photograph of Ginny in the dress she’d bought, was impressed by the way Ginny had got her mother’s approval before she’d actually seen the scoop-necked green evening gown.


	15. Christmas: Decorations

**15\. Christmas: Decorations**

Ginny pulled the Daily Prophet out from the hands of “The Reclusive Hero Potter” and presented him with the pot of Floo Powder.

‘Forget it,’ she told him. ‘I know you’re worried, but we need to go. You can’t be late.’

As he reached into the pot and took enough powder for two, Harry realised that his attempt to hide the tension he was feeling had failed. It was as if Ginny could read his feelings. Today, the press would finally get their chance to interview him; he wasn’t looking forward to it. The headline hurt, because it was true. When he was not working, Harry hid himself away. If he wasn’t at Grimmauld Place, he’d be at The Burrow, or in the Muggle world. Today, however, he couldn’t escape.

As the Prophet article pointed out, Harry had only given one interview since the Battle. After his radio interview with Lee Jordan he’d refused every other request. Any questions about the Battle were answered by the Ministry press office, which—under instructions from the Minister—cleared all relevant press releases with Harry. Ever since the Battle, the press had been clamouring for additional information. This, his first real public appearance since the defeat of Voldemort, was their opportunity.

Giving Ginny a smile which he was certain she saw right through, he scattered the Floo Powder onto the flames, and took her hand. They were still hand in hand when they stepped out from the fireplace and into the foyer of the Mages’ Hall. The room they found themselves in was white-walled, and its blue ceiling was supported by semi-circular arches of dark timber. Harry had little time to take in his surroundings, as the clamour began the moment they arrived.

Faced with a phalanx of reporters and photographers, and startled by the crescendo of questions, Harry found himself rooted to the spot. Startled, he found himself recalling his unsuccessful attempt to persuade the Minister to ban the press from attending the ceremony. Recalling Kingsley’s careful and logical arguments, he took a deep breath. He had to do this.

Harry had only been persuaded to drop his objections to the interview when the Minister showed him several wildly speculative articles. Things were getting worse. Over the weeks since the raids several sections of the press had taken to suggesting that he was unstable, that Voldemort had left him mentally scarred, or even crazy. The fact that—probably out of guilt—Xenophilius Lovegood had headlined the last issue of the Quibbler, “Harry Potter is as Sane as I Am!” hadn’t actually helped.

During their discussions Kingsley had gently led Harry through those articles and suggested that a short press conference before the medal ceremony began, a press conference where Harry would finally answer a few questions, would be the best solution. He had finally been persuaded when Kingsley promised that all reporters, other than two official Ministry photographers and a member of the Ministry press office, would be excluded from the ball. The last thing he wanted was to be photographed while attempting to dance.

His eyes blinking rapidly under the lights, Harry was—for a moment—a rabbit in the headlights. He had no idea where he was supposed to be going, but several elegantly robed strangers were walking past the press and through a door on the wall opposite to the fireplace. Ginny squeezed his hand and gave a gentle tug of encouragement. He returned the squeeze and, trying to ignore the flashing cameras and increasingly desperate enquiries, the young couple attempted to follow the other guests from the room. The volume increased.

‘No ring yet, Miss Weasley?’

‘Over here, Mr Potter, over here.’

‘Smile, please!’

‘Never mind smile! Give her a kiss!’

‘Harry, Harry!’

‘Why wear Muggle clothes, Potter?’

‘Say something!’

‘Ignore them,’ Ginny whispered.

‘How?’

‘You’re a Seeker,’ she reminded him in an undertone. ‘Ignore the distractions and concentrate on the Snitch.’

Acknowledging her suggestion with a smile that would grace several front pages, he disregarded the shouting scrum, and headed for the door. He would have to answer questions, but not yet, not now. Concentrating on the door, and the feel of Ginny’s hand in his, he allowed the reporter’s words to wash over him. The frenzied queries faded into meaningless background noise as he gently rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, and anchored himself to the lifeline named Ginny. She responded with a gentle squeeze of his hand and, to the annoyance of the journalists, they simply strode past the shouts and shrieks, into a press free corridor. Ahead, was the Mages’ Hall.

Harry looked around the hall in amazement. The room was larger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and was made more impressive by its unfamiliarity. At the point where the high walls began to curve into the vaulted ceiling, flags hung from poles. At the far end of the room, behind the dais, stained glass windows sparkled and shone with the reflected light from the glittering chandeliers. Harry and Ginny were not quite the last to arrive. They were followed into the hall by the Minister for Magic and the Chief Sorceress of the Wizengamot, Griselda Marchbanks.

As they entered the enormous room, Harry and Ginny looked around for their friends and family. Several people, none of whom Harry recognised, called his name and urgently beckoned him over. He ignored them and instead tried to locate his friends in the crowds. It took only moments, Dumbledore’s Army were clustered together, a collection of young people whose clothing, which would be considered smart in the Muggle world, was causing something of a stir.

The young men were all in suits. The majority wore blacks, navies and dark greys, although Justin wore pale grey, with a pink-trimmed waistcoat, and George was resplendent in a white dinner jacket, a pink shirt, and a magenta cummerbund, but.

The ladies were a much more colourful bunch. All, apart from Angelina, who wore a white trouser suit, were in colourful skirts and dresses. The Patil twins wore identical and very colourful saris. Hermione wore a pale blue jacket and a matching—and rather short—skirt. She’d tied her hair back with a ribbon and Harry thought that she’d managed to make herself look rather attractive. Cho wore a deep red suit, the skirt even shorter than Hermione’s; she smiled at Ginny, who fingered the torc around her neck and returned the smile.

Harry’s attention soon focussed on Neville. He was in trouble; that was obvious from the expression on his face. It seemed that Neville had shared the DA’s plans with Romilda, whose expensive and rather revealing robes had been outshone by the outrageous Muggle clothes worn by the DA. She was clinging determinedly to Neville’s arm, and trying to smile through her apparent anger, but the photographers in the hall were ignoring her and concentrating on those in Muggle clothes.

While Harry watched, Ginny nudged him. ‘Impressive, even for Luna,’ she observed, nodding towards the centre of the knot of young adults. Harry followed her gaze and grinned.

The combination of lime green t-shirt, strathearn tartan kilt and dozens of jangling bangles was interesting, and would probably have been enough colour. But it obviously wasn’t enough for Luna. Her choice of one red and one lemon yellow baseball boot added to the confusion created by her multi-coloured striped socks. The crowning glory, however, was the purple pork pie hat with its wildly waving peacock feather. As Harry smiled, Luna spotted them, and waved her arms in a wild wind-milling motion.

‘Oh, look, she’s worried in case we haven’t noticed her,’ Ginny observed straight-faced.

Harry snorted with laughter, and he and Ginny strolled over to join their friends. They had moved away from Luna and were talking to Seamus, Lavender, and Firenze the Centaur when a hush fell over the room. Harry looked over his shoulder. On the stage the Minister was motioning for silence. Ginny loosened her grip and, rather reluctantly, Harry released her hand.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the Minister began. ‘The medal ceremony will begin soon; first, however, Mr Potter and I will be answering a few questions. This short question and answer session will be followed by the main reason for this gathering—the medal presentation. After the presentation, the members of the press have kindly agreed to leave the room. Will you join me, please, Harry?’

Kingsley Shacklebolt, resplendent in dark blue dress robes, easily found Harry in the crowd and beckoned him forward.

‘Good luck,’ Ginny whispered, kissing him on the cheek.

Harry walked slowly towards the dais, becoming more nervous at every step. He walked anxiously to the front of the silent crowd and up the steps onto the dais. To the accompaniment of dozens of clicking cameras, Kingsley Shacklebolt shook his hand warmly.

‘If there are questions which you don’t want to answer, simply don’t answer them. I’ll just give the official Ministry reply,’ the Minister for Magic murmured.

‘Thanks, Kingsley,’ said Harry.

‘Fifteen minutes, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Kingsley. And it began.

‘Mr Potter, as the Chosen One, can you categorically confirm that You-Know-Who is _really_ dead this time?’ was the first question. Harry groaned.

‘Yes! He is NOT coming back.’ Harry felt his temper rising. ‘And his name, the name his mother gave him, was Tom Marvolo Riddle! Please call him Tom Riddle, not Lord Voldemort, or the Dark Lord, or any other nonsense. And don’t call me the Chosen One.’

‘But if he’s really dead, and we’re all finally safe, why did you decide to become an Auror?’ the reporter asked.

‘Because many of his supporters are still at large, and they must be caught. And because we need to be vigilant…’ Harry stopped mid-sentence, he was beginning to sound like Mad-eye Moody, he realised, he glanced towards the Minister.

‘And because the Auror Office needs brave and committed young people like Harry Potter. People who are prepared to stand up and fight for what is right, to try to ensure that we are never again faced with someone like Tom Riddle,’ Kingsley said smoothly. ‘Next question please.’

‘About the Gringotts break-in…’ a blond-haired young man began. Kingsley interrupted the questioner before he’d even begun to ask the question.

‘A joint statement was made by the Ministry and Gringotts only days after the robbery. The only item taken during this so-called “robbery” was removed from the Lestrange vault by Mr Potter and his friends. The item was infused with Dark Magic; it was taken and destroyed because Voldemort was using it to keep himself alive. We will not be answering any further questions on that subject, as there is nothing more to say,’ the Minister boomed forcefully.

‘Then perhaps you could show us the Elder Wand, Mr Potter; the wand with which you killed You-Know-Who,’ the blond young man asked.

Kingsley and Harry exchanged a glance, and Harry silently indicated that he was prepared to speak. He had been thinking for months about the wild rumours about the Elder Wand. Playing for time while he gathered his thoughts, Harry stared into the young reporter’s pale eyes.

‘Tom Riddle! Not You-Know-Who, or Lord Voldemort, or the Dark Lord.’ said Harry forcefully. ‘If you want to ask me questions about Tom Riddle, call him by his name. He wasn’t Lord of anything, or anywhere, and he had a name, so we should use it.’ Harry stared at the man, waiting, and silently demanding that the journalist ask the question again.

The journalist sighed, ‘If you insist! Mr Potter. Will you show us the Elder Wand, the wand with which you killed TomRiddle.’ The young man ran the words together in his haste to say the name.

‘First, I did _not_ kill Tom Riddle. I tried to disarm him and, as a consequence, his killing curse rebounded. As for this “Elder Wand” I keep hearing about. Well—as everyone knows, I was raised by Muggles. I didn’t know anything about the Elder Wand until earlier this year. It’s an odd legend, isn’t it? The story, as I understand it, is of an “unbeatable wand” that can only be taken from a Wizard by his murderer. Surely that makes it a beatable wand?’ he suggested. Several people laughed at Harry’s comment.

‘Riddle’s own wand didn’t work against me. We both discovered that during the Triwizard Tournament,’ said Harry, speaking slowly and carefully. ‘Last year, just before I went on the run, Riddle stole Lucius Malfoy’s wand, but that didn’t work either. Finally, just before the Battle, he stole Professor Dumbledore’s wand from his grave. You all know what happened that time, too. I’m still here.’

‘The Elder…’ the journalist began.

‘Professor Dumbledore’s wand didn’t do Riddle much good, did it?’ Harry replied. ‘Do you really believe that Tom Riddle, “the world’s most dangerous wizard” stole “the unbeatable wand” and was then beaten by a seventeen-year-old who was simply trying to disarm him?’

The journalist stared at Harry in confusion, but continued determinedly.

‘Then, can we see _your wand_ , Mr Potter, the wand which defeated You-Kno…’ The journalist hesitated under Harry’s piercing gaze. ‘A photograph of you holding the wand that defeated … TomRiddle,’ he said.

‘I’m afraid that you can’t see that wand, either,’ said Harry, smiling. He pulled his wand from his jacket pocket and raised it. Cameras flashed. ‘This is my wand, holly and phoenix feather. This is the wand I bought from Mr Ollivander when I was eleven years old. It was broken before the Battle, so I couldn’t use it, but I was fortunate enough to be able to repair it afterwards. If you want to see “the wand which defeated Tom Riddle,” you’ll have to speak to the Malfoy family. I … let’s say I ... borrowed … a wand from the Malfoys during our escape from Malfoy Manor. Last month I returned it. It was—it is—Draco Malfoy’s wand. But if you want to see it, you’ll need clearance from the Auror Office first, as both Draco and Lucius Malfoy are convicted Death Eaters, and currently under house arrest.’

‘You gave a convicted Death Eater a wand? The wand that killed You-Know-Who?’ the man asked in astonishment.

‘I actually gave the wand to Draco’s mother, Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy has been wandless for over a year now. As I just said, I ... borrowed ... Draco’s wand when we escaped. Draco had to borrow his mother’s wand for his final term at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, he managed to drop, and lose, that wand, too.’ Unable to stop himself, Harry added, ‘It seems he’s rather careless with his wands. Narcissa Malfoy, as I told the Wizengamot at her trial, is not, and has never been a Death Eater. In fact she helped me to defeat Riddle. She was wandless, so I returned her son’s wand to her for safekeeping.’

‘You’ve asked enough questions, Mr Green. We’ll take a question from someone else,’ Kingsley announced, dismissing the young blond man’s still raised hand and turning instead towards the waving arm of a middle aged woman.

‘Is it true that you spent your time on the run with the Muggle-born Miss Hermione Granger?’

‘Yes, and Ron Weasley was with us, too,’ Harry said in exasperation.

‘Are you still on speaking terms with all four of your ex-girlfriends?’ she asked.

‘Four?’ Harry was startled. The woman looked down at a list.

‘Miss Granger, Miss Parvati Patil, Miss Chang and Miss Lovegood,’ the woman said.

‘What?’ Harry spluttered, suddenly wishing that he was still being asked about something simple, like the Elder Wand. ‘They aren’t … weren’t … I’m not answering any questions about my personal life.’ 

‘So you won’t confirm that you and Miss Weasley are engaged?’ the reporter asked.

‘No.’

‘No you won’t confirm it, or no, you are not engaged?’ she pressed. Harry somehow managed to find Ginny in the crowd. She grinned and winked at him.

‘Yes,’ said Harry, suddenly inspired. He watched Ginny laugh.

‘Enough, Miss Newsham,’ Kingsley said. ‘Can we have someone else, please? Mr Hackworth.’ The Minister pointed to an elderly wizard with an impressively bulbous and blue-veined nose.

‘Severus Snape was appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts by You-Know-Lord … Riddle … Tom … thingy,’ Hackworth began.

‘Correct,’ Harry smiled at the man’s confusion. He wished that Professor Dumbledore could see the chaos a simple insistence that the press use Riddle’s real name was causing. Several of the guests were laughing at the journalist’s discomfort.

‘Before you went on the run, you claimed that Snape killed Dumbledore. Why are you now defending him?’ The elderly pressman asked sharply.

‘Snape—Professor Snape—was always working for Professor Dumbledore. I didn’t discover that until after he’d died. While Sn—Professor Snape was Headmaster he provided me with—help. Despite the school being under the control of Death Eaters, he managed to get the Sword of Godric Gryffindor to me; it proved invaluable.

‘Invaluable?’ the man asked.

‘Ask Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom they both used it,’ said Harry.

‘I’m told that you didn’t like Professor Snape,’ said Hackworth accusingly.

‘I didn’t,’ Harry admitted. ‘Not many people did.’ Harry paused in thought. ‘I’ve thought a lot about that since the Battle, and I suspect that Snape didn’t even like himself. But he gave his life to defeat Tom Riddle and it would be wrong of me not to acknowledge his contribution.’

The elderly wizard was about to ask another question, but Kingsley cut him off.

‘One final question,’ Kingsley announced. He pointed to a fashionably robed and well made up witch.

‘Why wear outrageous Muggle clothing to a prestigious event like this? Have you no respect for Wizarding traditions?’ the woman asked acidly. Harry took a deep breath and looked nervously around the room.

‘Some traditions are good, they remind us of our past, but some are simply an excuse to avoid change.’ Harry told her. ‘The last person who I heard use the “Wizarding traditions” argument was Dolores Umbridge. She’s in Azkaban and I want nothing to do with the “traditions” Umbridge believed to be important; traditions like prejudice and favouritism. We should be moving forwards, not standing still, and certainly not moving backwards.

‘I was raised by Muggles. I was brought up wearing Muggle clothes, and I wore Muggle clothes when I was on the run. I wear Muggle clothes all the time, because I’m comfortable in them. That, alone, should be a good enough reason.’ He stared at the woman. ‘In fact, that _isn’t_ the reason I’m wearing Muggle clothes today. I’m doing it because my friend and former Quidditch team mate, Katie Bell, asked me to, she asked us all. We’re doing it to show our support for Muggles and Muggle-borns. Katie runs the Society for the Assistance of Muggle-borns, she’s doing her best to help hundreds of people who lost everything last year,’ said Harry. 

‘When Thicknesse took over the Ministry, some of you probably simply watched your neighbours being rounded up and shipped off to prison, or worse,’ he continued. ‘You were probably too scared to get involved. Now is your chance to help. Many Muggle-borns still need help, and I hope that you’ll all speak to Katie … she’s the one in red who’s waving … give generously to her charity, and I hope that your papers and magazines will print the press release she’s prepared. Thank you.’

‘That’s all,’ Kingsley announced with finality. ‘This press conference is now at an end. If all members of the press can move to the back of the hall now, please, after you’ve spoken to Miss Bell, of course.’

Harry stood alongside Kingsley and watched as the reporters shuffled away from the stage. Katie had hurriedly made the way to the back of the room, along with her friend Leanne, and Oliver Wood. It looked to Harry as though Oliver was actually threatening the press. Whatever he was doing, Katie and Leanne were handing out press releases and even collecting cash from some of the journalists.

Harry walked from the dais and returned to his friends. Ginny and Hermione both hugged him; Ron patted him on the back.

‘What was all that stuff about Parvati and Luna?’ Ron asked. Harry shrugged; like Ron, he’d been puzzled by the question.

‘She’d done her research,’ said Ginny.

‘Research?’ Harry asked.

‘You took Parvati to the Yule Ball, and Luna to Slughorn’s party,’ Ginny reminded him She looked into his face and began to laugh. ‘Obviously, you’d forgotten. But someone’s been feeding school gossip to the press. I wonder who?’ She looked across at Romilda Vane, who did not meet her gaze.

At the front of the hall, the stage was being prepared for the medal presentations. The ceremony was about to begin. Harry sighed.

‘It will be over soon, Harry,’ Ginny assured him. ‘But, you fought hard to get most of these medals awarded, you should be happy that you’ve succeeded, not unhappy because you’ll be getting praised, too.’ She stared up into his face. ‘You’re a hero, live with it. If you don’t, I’ll start a petition to get a statue of you erected, and then you’ll be embarrassed forever!’ she announced, her eyes twinkling. Harry smiled, so she hugged him tightly and kissed his chin. ‘And you’re going to dance with me later. No excuses,’ she added.

The ‘Battle of Hogwarts’ medals were the first to be awarded. The simple bronze medals were awarded to every participant in the Battle. The non-human recipients were rewarded first, and the ceremony began badly, with several disapproving murmurs.

The very first medals to be presented were given to Firenze, the sole representative of the centaurs. Professor Firenze, as Kingsley called him, looked disdainfully down on the mutterers as he collected medals for his herd.

‘These are meaningless tokens,’ Firenze told the assembled wizards, waving the medals awarded to him and his herd with a dismissive clatter. ‘We do not seek, nor do we require, your approval for our actions. We do what the stars foretell, what we know is right for our herd. I am here to collect these worthless pieces of metal, not because I wish to bask in the unwanted praise of mere humans, but as a mark of the respect we have for our friend Albus Dumbledore, and for Harry Potter, who fought to have these tokens awarded to us. I am a centaur; the gratitude of those we respect is the most valuable of gifts, what others think is immaterial, farewell.’ Firenze reared up in his hind legs and galloped from the hall, forcing many of the guests to scatter.

The Hogwarts house-elves were next, their four brave representatives, the only house-elves prepared to appear in public, accepted their medals with an embarrassed ‘Thank you, thank you, we must go, we has work.’ Three of them Apparated away immediately, leaving Kreacher as the last non-human in the room.

While he waited for the next medals to be awarded, Minerva McGonagall appeared at Harry’s side. ‘Albus would have loved this ceremony,’ she whispered into his ear as the house-elves’ departed. ‘Look at the Wizengamot. They don’t know what is going to happen next.’

The awards continued. Many combatants received the Order of Merlin, third class, including the majority of Dumbledore’s Army. A tearful Dennis Creevey accepted his brother’s medal; he was still crying when he returned to his parents. Dennis was not the only sibling or parent collecting a posthumous medal, and if not for Ginny’s comforting arm around his waist, Harry would have lost himself in grief.

Fewer people received the Order of Merlin, second class. Harry and Ginny looked after Teddy Lupin while Andromeda Tonks collected Remus and Nymphadora Lupin’s medals. There were a few mutterings when Lupin’s name was read out and Harry tried to identify the werewolf-haters. Some of them seemed to be Ministry officials.

‘We’ve still got a lot to do, Harry,’ Hermione whispered.

When the next name was read out there were more mutterings of disapproval. Dobby’s medal had proved an even harder fight for Harry than had Lupin’s. Harry watched Hermione turn her head away from the dais and scrutinise the audience carefully, watching for those showing displeasure. Dobby’s medal was collected by Kreacher, who bowed to Harry, and vanished.

The Weasleys, all but Ron, were the last to receive the Order of Merlin, second class. Harry paid little attention to Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill, Fleur and the others. His attention was fixed on the youngest member of the family.

He watched Ginny in dumbstruck admiration. Her green dress seemed to sparkle under the light from the chandeliers, and it hugged her flawless figure. The emeralds in the silver torc matched the dress perfectly. She was beautiful, and the photographers seemed to be concentrating on her.

She’d bought the dress before she’d known about the torc, he realised, so she must have bought it to match his eyes. That sudden insight made his heart beat even faster.

‘Your turn now, Harry,’ Ginny said to Harry as she returned to his side and pulled him from his fantasies.

The master of ceremonies cleared his throat.

‘Finally, it is time to award the Highest Award, the Order of Merlin First Class to the four young people who destroyed those cursed items which tied Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-styled Lord Voldemort to life: Miss Hermione Granger, Mr Neville Longbottom, Mr Ronald Weasley and, of course, Mr Harry Potter.’

To huge cheers Neville and Harry followed Hermione and Ron onto the stage. Hermione looked as though she was about to enter an exam. She was pale and nervous and gripped Ron’s arm tightly; he didn’t seem to mind. After the final medals were awarded, Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forwards and motioned for silence.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, we have had speeches and congratulations aplenty since the Battle, but let us not forget those who fell in this fight. Many of the medals awarded here have been awarded posthumously. I ask that you join me for two minutes of contemplative silence. Let us remember the fallen.’

A hush fell across the hall as everyone bowed their heads. Harry once again remembered Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Dobby, Colin and the other victims of war.

‘The world has not ended. It continues to turn, and we who live must make sure that the sacrifice of the dead is not forgotten. They fought for a brighter future, and we must honour them by delivering it,’ Kingsley announced after the silence.

‘Now, as Harry Potter said earlier, we must look ahead, not back. This banquet and ball is our first real step into the future. This hall contains heroes and politicians, bureaucrats and businessmen, let us all work together to build a better future. Now, if you will find your places, the banquet can begin,’ Kingsley concluded.

Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand and they moved towards their seats.


End file.
